


Le Soleil et la Lune

by taegyungie



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Famous, Baekhyun is a writer, Break Up, Friends to Lovers, Jongin dances ballet, M/M, Most of this fic takes place in paris, NO INFIDELITY OCCURS, Post-Break Up, Slow Burn, This is really fake deep and romantic, idk what else to tag, there's a LOT of baekyeon in it but not the way you're thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 18:38:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12753918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taegyungie/pseuds/taegyungie
Summary: The sun and the moon have always lived on opposite ends of the earth.Or, Baekhyun has a lot of things to figure out, and who knew packing his bags and flying to a foreign country would give him all the answers - and romance - he needs?





	Le Soleil et la Lune

**Author's Note:**

> THE LONG AWAITED RETURN OF TAEGYUNGIE
> 
> God when's the last time I wrote a fic besides that one fest fic? May? That's way too long. I'm so glad I got this fic finished I feel like a whole new person. What's next, Lauren? You gonna finally write that baeksoo you've been meaning to write? Or how about the fourteen other baekxings? We may never know.
> 
> Now, there IS a lot of baekyeon in this as an established relationship. I promise you no infidelity or anything horrible like that occurs I worked REALLY HARD to make sure that everything that happens in this fic happens honestly and like a bunch of decent human beings. This fic, safe to say, is an emotional roller coaster.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to my girlf-WAIT SHE'S MY FIANCEE NOW - for always reading as I make progress just to tell me it's good and therefore give me incentive to keep going. Ur the real MVP babe.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! I also have a cc and a twitter that I'll link in the end notes and such where you can reach me :)
> 
> ENJOY!!!

Baekhyun frowns at his reflection, nimble fingers knotting his tie. The cotton is soft against his fingertips, the tiny, stitched sailboats raising little bumps in the fabric. The bathroom lights exhaust his eyes. His shirt is starting to get a bit too loose around his neck and shoulders. He needs a haircut. 

 

“Is that a new tie?” Taeyeon asks, peeking over his shoulder into the mirror. Her makeup is simple, she looks very pretty, her navy dress fitting her just right. “I like it.”

 

Baekhyun hums his acknowledgement, rolling his shoulders as if testing the flexibility of his blazer. None of his clothes fit him quite right, these days. He blinks slowly a few times, trying to squeeze the harshness of the vanity lights out of his eyes. With a roll of his neck, his eyes open, and he sees his fiancée peering at him with a slight frown. 

 

“What’s on your mind?” She asks, putting all her makeup back into its designated bag, delicate fingers zipping it closed. 

 

“Nothing,” Baekhyun says with a sigh and a smile. “Just not sure if I totally like the dialogue I wrote between Elise and Marise today.”

 

Despite her small smile, Taeyeon rolls her eyes. “You and that damn novel.” She steps up to his side, again, rising onto her toes to kiss his cheek. “Don't worry that silly head of yours about it. Try to shake it off for one dinner? It’s the last dinner we’ll have time for with my parents before the wedding.”

 

Baekhyun nods, leaving the bathroom to their bedroom, sifting through the closet for a pair of shoes. Taeyeon follows, gathering the remainder of her things, listing off things that need to be done. 

 

“The cake tasting is tomorrow, so be ready for when I finish up at work.”

 

“Yes, ma'am.”

 

“We should probably get you another fitting with the tailor, with all the weight you've been dropping, lately.”

 

They're at the entrance of their apartment, now. Baekhyun stands, keys in hand. watching as Taeyeon straps on her heels. Her hair falls over her shoulders, and as she stands up, her face is a little flushed from being bent over and Baekhyun smiles. He feels tired, and he feels stressed, but his fiancée is beautiful, and she is smart, and she's stepping in to press a quick kiss to his lips. And with kind eyes she says, “Just two more months, baby. Then I’ll be your wife.”

 

Baekhyun’s life is perfect. 

 

When he was very young, he knew he wanted to write. He liked words, as all his teachers and peers had told him. That words were always streaming out of his mouth like river flow, endless and inexhaustible, and with plenty of practice comes plenty of eloquence. And soon, he was a master of words, a vocabulary to envy, an ability to string words together to evoke emotions people hadn't felt before, earning admiration from anyone who'd ever spoken with him. Byun Baekhyun, starry-eyed and charming, manipulating small talk about the weather until it’s a stunning piece of prose, making all the women fall at his heels at the utter poetry he speaks and writes, voted in as high school class president, able to influence  _ anyone _ to believe what’s pouring from those pink lips of his. 

 

When he was accepted into the most prestigious literary course in the most prestigious school around, he was utterly filled with rejoice. The only thing he’s ever truly loved, truly felt absolute passion about, is laying out his future before him. Baekhyun will study words, and he will master them, and he will get paid for putting words together until they sound better and look better than they do individually. 

 

Popularity follows Baekhyun wherever he goes. He makes friends easily, with the assistance of that glint in his eye and his ability to warp the things he says until the receiver of his spoken thoughts are completely enthralled. He gets good grades and he's happy and he loves what he does. That's how college went for Baekhyun. 

 

And his TA in his rhetoric class come senior year was a small, smart woman, progressing toward a master’s degree in political science. She never told him he was gifted, and instead she would push him until he felt he was even closer to perfect. She was quick-witted and sharp tongued yet kind in ways Baekhyun didn't think possible. She had pretty hair and she asked him to dinner one Thursday night and he said yes. She spoke with him about important things, she challenged him and unravelled him and quilted him back together with meticulous hands. She's a smart, scholarly woman, from a wealthy and respectable family, and she cheered him on at his graduation. She supports him in his freelance writing as she progresses toward a phD in international relations. He gets paid a lot of money for pieces he writes for well-paying journals. When he asks her to marry him, she says, “I’m keeping my last name.”

 

His fiancée is smart and beautiful. His friends are wonderful and everyone gets along. His parents love his fiancée. His fiancée’s parents love him. He makes a healthy amount of money writing, doing the thing he loves to do most. 

 

Baekhyun’s life is perfect. So, why does he feel like he’s suffocating?

 

He’s only half paying attention to the conversation around him. Taeyeon chatters on with her parents, details on wedding plans, as the day is getting nearer. She's leaving town next weekend for a fitting for her dress. He keeps hearing that this dress is stunning, but he has yet to see it. Taeyeon is progressive in many ways. In others, she is beyond traditional. He’s stopped paying attention to all these little details a long time ago. He knows Taeyeon sees the importance in these things, and he lets her take charge. It’s clear she feels more comfortable that way, anyway. 

 

“What’s on your mind, son?” Taeyeon’s father grasps Baekhyun’s attention. He looks up from his steak, which he’s been sawing at slowly for longer than necessary, blinks a few times. 

 

With a small smile, he says, “Writing. As always.”

 

“He’s been working on a novel,” Taeyeon pipes in. Her tone, mostly proud, somewhat condescending, confuses Baekhyun. He takes a bite of his steak. “Getting stumped with the ‘flow of it,’ as he calls it.”

 

Taeyeon’s father frowns, hums. He takes his time chewing his bite and swallowing before responding. “Why a novel?”

 

Baekhyun shrugs, takes a sip of his wine. “I’ve always wanted to. You know, I’ve been writing articles and short pieces for three years now, it’s time I work on a project for myself, you know?”

 

“What’s it about?” Taeyeon’s mother asks. She’s sweet, softer spoken than her daughter. She’s edged with tenderness in all the places Taeyeon is edged with firiness. 

 

“About a dancer,” Taeyeon says, in place of Baekhyun. She smiles around her glass of water. “Injures her ankle and can't dance anymore. How sad is that?”

 

“Very sad.”

 

“It’s not-” Baekhyun starts, stops. Words, with which he's usually such a master, are always entirely lost on him when it comes to talking about his novel. “It isn't sad. Really. It’s about finding happiness without having to reach for it. About… falling into something good by accident.”

 

“Sounds like a reach,” His future father-in-law says. “Sounds too… overdone. Understated.”

 

“Dad-”

 

“No, he's right,” Baekhyun says, putting a hand on Taeyeon’s knee. “It’s empty, right now. I just don't know how to fix it.”

 

His fiancée is beautiful and smart, and she smiles softly at him before turning back to her meal. He feels sad, most likely because of the emptiness of his current project, but perhaps the emptiness that’s been sitting low in his gut for what feels like months, now. 

 

Taeyeon’s father speaks up again. “Why not just stick to the things you know? That piece you wrote on the death of modern literature for the  _ Times  _ last month was spectacular.”

 

“Because I want to try something new.” Like Elise, his protagonist, who needs to find something different without a choice. “Writing a full-length novel is much more challenging than typing up a quick column or piece. It can be refreshing, challenging yourself.”

 

“Or exhausting,” Taeyeon says, with a hint of concern in her voice. 

 

“Why a dancer?” Her mother asks.

 

“Ah,” Taeyeon says with an amused smile across her mouth. Baekhyun just returns to his meal. He knows Taeyeon likes telling this story. “Remember that trip we took to Paris last spring? And we saw the ballet?” She stabs at her salad with her fork, drawing out the space between sentences for nothing more than dramatic effect. “He was obsessed. Hasn't been able to get his mind off it, since.”

 

“I found it a bit wondrous,” Baekhyun says with a furrow of his brow, “that these women, these ballerinas, they worked for this career since they were probably three years old. Imagine knowing what you want to do for the rest of your life when you're three years old.”

 

Taeyeon’s mother looks delighted, romanticized by such a thought. Her father, however, looks confused. He could never get behind the magical things in life. A man of numbers and figures. 

 

With a frown, Baekhyun adds, “And imagine something taking that from you.”

 

Taeyeon’s mother actually puts a hand to her heart and Baekhyun chuckles. The meal continues on, as does conversation. They mostly talk about the wedding, naturally. It seems, lately, that  _ all  _ Taeyeon - and, by extension, Baekhyun - is capable of talking about is the wedding. It’s all anyone ever talks to them  _ about.  _ Baekhyun is irreparably bored. 

 

“I just don't get it,” Taeyeon’s father pipes up, sometime later, interrupting his wife mid sentence about floral arrangements. Baekhyun looks up at him, bracing himself. “You know, you're making enough as it is with your usual publishers. Isn't writing a novel just a risky investment?”

 

“I don't write as an investment,” Baekhyun argues, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “I write because I love it.”

 

“It seems an odd endeavour,” Mr. Kim responds, visibly surrendering a bit, softening his blows, under the pointed glares of Taeyeon and her mother. “I can't see it paying off, is all.”

“I want to write a novel,” Baekhyun says, not looking up from his mostly empty plate, “because I love writing and I love this story.”

 

“Dad,” Taeyeon cuts in. “Really. There  _ are _ people out there that do things because they  _ love it,  _ you know.”

 

The conversation is dropped there, and Baekhyun retreats within himself. Taeyeon is right, people do things because they love it. He writes because he loves it, he eats triple chocolate ice cream because he loves it. And he loves Taeyeon, which is why he’s marrying her, right? She’s smart and she’s beautiful, and everything with her feels like it’s going the way it’s  _ supposed  _ to go, so it’s perfect, right? He loves Taeyeon, so he will marry her and he will be happy. 

 

Right?

 

\-----

 

Baekhyun wakes up on a Saturday morning to the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. He hums, wandering through the apartment to find his fiancée, already sitting at their little breakfast nook by the window, dressed and ready to go. She’ll be leaving soon with a couple of her bridesmaids to go try on her dress, make sure it’s as perfect as Taeyeon ensures everything always is. Baek rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand, his sleepy body slowly unravelling from its grogginess.

 

“Morning,” he grumbles, reaching into the cupboard for a mug.

 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she says, distractedly, scrolling through what’s most likely emails on her phone. “How was your sleep?”

 

He spoons sugar into his mug, jaw clenched tight with tiredness. “It was fine,” he lies.

 

Once his coffee is poured, he settles in across from her. She looks very pretty in the white morning light, even with such a subtle amount of makeup on. He likes her very much, loves her, even. He’s glad he loves Taeyeon, because she is a good woman, and his soul is rotting because he cannot understand why he is not excited to marry her. He’s doing it because he knows he should, being with her for so long. She’s smart and she’s beautiful and he gets along well with her, and everything is comfortable and everything is safe. That’s what you do when you find something  _ good,  _ right? You find a way to keep it.

 

“Juhyun is coming to get me in about fifteen minutes, I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” Taeyeon says. Baekhyun hums his acknowledgement, looking out the window at the skyline beyond. “Please promise me you’ll do something different with your time than sit in your office and stare helplessly at your computer.”

 

Baekhyun smiles, though small, tilting his chin down to look into the mug nestled comfortably between his palms. Safe and secure, just like him.

 

“Why not meet up with Yixing, or something? He’s your  _ best man  _ and I feel like you haven’t seen much of him, lately.”

 

Baekhyun nods, agrees, tells her it’s a good idea. He doesn’t, however, mention how seeing Yixing naturally, subconsciously, draws Baekhyun’s attention to this sense of longing that’s found solace in his joints that he can’t quite place, let alone comprehend. Baekhyun wishes he knew what his body was aching for, but his mind has been made up that the future he has planned is what’s right for him. His mind has no interest in searching for what his chest is aching for.

 

Taeyeon leaves with a kiss to Baekhyun’s forehead and he sits there at the table until the coffee in his mug has cooled to a lukewarm. A strange, in-between temperature that feels like nothingness. It makes Baekhyun sigh.

 

He does exactly as Taeyeon advised against. He sits in his office and stares at the blinking cursor on his document. He hums and he haws, and he wishes everything were as simple as it feels like it should be. It’s all so  _ simple,  _ really. He loves Taeyeon and her family and his career and his apartment and he is going to keep it. But his inspiration has been tapped out to nothing but fumes, he feels uncomfortable and itchy in his skin, his eyes burn and his lungs feel heavy and he can’t sleep at night because his mind is hollow. He’s so tired and so lifeless. His hip bones are starting to jut out a bit too far and his cheeks look sunken and sallow and he’s pretty sure he’s rotting away. He feels undead. He needs to fix this.

 

Without being even remotely aware of what his body is doing, he’s booking a one-way ticket online and packing his bags. He has a little less than two months until his wedding. That’s plenty of time to wander the streets until he finds his inspiration huddled in a corner, hiding in a tree, baked into a croissant, fuck,  _ anywhere.  _ He knows it’s anywhere but here. 

 

He takes the taxi to the airport. His mind wanders to images of intricate European architecture and beautiful, uniform green trees and bicycles and balconies and a bottle of wine for lunch. He loved Paris, when he visited once, and for the first time in months, his chest is inflated with something lighter and brighter. He’s breathing oxygen, suddenly, instead of exhaustion.

 

It’s nearly boarding time when his phone rings. It’s then that he realizes that nobody knows where he is or what he’s doing. The caller ID tells him it’s his mother, and he groans, because he doesn’t want to deal with that right now. But, he figures, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone, so he should probably chat with her before he goes. He sighs.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Baekhyunnie! How would you feel about dinner at ours on Wednesday? Baekbeom says he’ll bring the wife and kids.” Her voice is ecstatic, excited, and Baekhyun hates to turn her down.

 

“Uh, I’m not sure we’re so accessible right now,” he says, unable to lie but unable to outright refuse his mother. “I’ll have to pass it by Tae, but, you know, things are kind of crazy right now.”

 

“Of course, of course,” she gushes. His chest restricts with guilt. “I’ll let you go, sweetheart. Tell Taeyeon I say hello.”

 

“I will,” Baekhyun says, smile on his lips but absent from his eyes. He hangs up the phone just as boarding time is being announced. He hopes he packed enough, as he has no idea when he’ll be returning.  He just hopes that this will fix at the very least  _ something.  _

 

Something. Anything. Renew his inspiration so his book can expand and he can be happy with that and distract him from the eminent boredom that’s bleeding from his veins.

 

\-----

 

There is something so magical, so indescribably romantic about Paris. The city lives and breathes art and culture and beauty. Everything, every street, every lamp, every picket fence, every stone in the sidewalk, was placed with such meticulous craftsmanship and artistic taste. There’s personality and an individual quirk to every breeze. This time of year, the trees are fully bloomed and a vivid green. There’s a different smell around every corner; coffee, wine, cheese, perfume.

 

It’s impossible to not feel the absolute  _ romance  _ of the city of Paris, France. Baekhyun has, somehow, found a way to do so. He is positively, inarguably, inevitably,  _ miserable. _

 

He called Taeyeon from his hotel the first night. They were up for  _ hours,  _ arguing and crying. Well, Taeyeon cried and Baekhyun clenched his jaw tight and his eyes shut and hoped to god this was all worth it. He hurt Taeyeon in an entirely unprecedented way. She panicked, thinking he was running from her. He had to assure her over and over that this was not a problem she had to deal with. This is about Baekhyun and his art and his incentive and his motivation. He just needs to figure things out until he feels more comfortable in his skin before he can stand at the altar. Because, really, Taeyeon deserves to be marrying  _ all  _ of Baekhyun. Not this strange, absent, half-version of him that’s been walking around in his body for months now.

 

Besides, he pointed out, she’s been doing so well with all his planning, she’s more than capable of doing this without him. At least for a little while.

 

He feels as though he has walked down every street in Paris. He’s exhausted his legs and his feet. He has tried every little coffee shop he could find. His french is, gladly, not terrible. Likely in thanks to his slight obsession with French music since their first visit. But he is just as hollow, drained, distracted and tired as he was before he left.

 

Except now he’s incredibly lonely.

 

Sleep is a profoundly unattainable concept. His hotel room - just like every hotel - feels like a place he doesn’t belong, represents misplacement and homelessness, to him. So he can’t sit there and stare at his ceiling. This is his third night sitting on the RER, staring out the window as the train runs its course up and down the tracks. He never gets off, not until it’s so late - or early - and he’s stumbling into his hotel room to force himself into a shallow and restless sleep for hardly an hour. 

 

He is so fatigued, so sallow, and it all starts to overwhelm him as he watches the city whirr by beyond the window. He cries, just a little bit, quietly, but enough to have his shoulders vibrating. He doesn’t understand why he feels like such a lifeless vessel, not when he came all this way to look for something that can’t be found. A little while passes, just sitting by himself, crying pathetically on a train so late at night. How he wound up here is beyond him.

 

There’s a body settling itself next to him. He pays it no mind, but the corner of his eye catches the motion, his skin barely detecting the slight addition of warmth at his side. Decidedly, he ignores them, content to just cry in peace until his already hollow body is drained enough for him to drag his ass back to his hotel so he can force himself to sleep.

 

“Hello?”

 

The voice is speaking to him in Korean. He wants to ignore them, continue with his sad, sad life on his own. He’s curious, however, and he turns his head to see where the voice is coming from.

 

He’s met with the kindest pair of eyes he’s ever seen. They’re a warm, molten, chocolate brown, soft and somewhat sleepy, looking back at him with unabashed concern. The rest of the person, however, is rendering Baekhyun a little speechless, with his golden skin and pouty lips and stylishly overgrown haircut. Baekhyun blinks the tears out of his eyes, collects his thoughts, because this beautiful stranger is speaking to him in his native tongue, and he should probably say something back.

 

“I’m sorry,” is all he can think to say.

 

He earns a smile with that. And  _ wow,  _ would he ever like to see that smile again. “Are you okay?”

 

Baekhyun sighs and sniffles, hugging his arms around himself and collecting himself. Unable to disguise the bitterness in his voice, he replies, “it’s a long story.”

 

The beautiful stranger blinks. “I’ve got about five minutes until my stop. Wanna try me?”

 

Baekhyun blinks and all he sees is the sweet, lively pink of the stranger’s sweater. “How did you know I was Korean?”

 

“I take this train home every night. I heard you grumbling to yourself a couple nights ago.”

 

Baekhyun blushes, quickly turning his gaze away and to the floor beneath his feet. The stranger laughs, a silly, precious little giggle. It brightens Baekhyun’s mood, even if just a subtle amount. At this point, where he’s so miserable, subtlety is profound, monumental, unignorable.

 

“I’m getting married.”

 

“Oh! Congratulations!” The stranger looks overjoyed at this. It makes Baekhyun feel even worse. He should be feeling as excited as this complete  _ stranger.  _ The boy, however, seems to pick up on the way Baekhyun’s shoulders sag. “Or… not?”

 

“Like I said,” Baekhyun shakes his head, mostly to himself. “Long story.”

 

“Well, we always have tomorrow, I guess.” To that, Baekhyun nods. He feels a little silly, talking to this stranger on a train in a foreign city in the middle of the night. But he feels a bit elevated, a little refreshed. “Believe me when I say I don’t normally approach people like this. You just looked like you needed a friend.”

 

“That’s very kind of you,” Baekhyun says softly, with a smile. “I’m Baekhyun.”

 

“Jongin,” he smiles. “Lovely to meet you.”

 

Baekhyun means to tell him that it’s lovely to meet him, as well. He wants to tell him that a new face and voice and words besides the ones suffocating his mind is precisely what he needed. A change in scenery is not limited to only  _ scenery.  _ Sometimes, it’s company, too.

 

However, before he can say anything, Jongin asks, “So what brings you to Paris, of all places?”

 

“Looking for my lost inspiration,” Baekhyun replies. He hasn’t a clue why he feels so comfortable sharing such a thing with a random, beautiful boy who comes and sits next to him on public transportation. He feels ready to pull his ribs open and spill it all out to share with Jongin, split the load, even if not right down the middle. Just a little relief is enough. “I write.”

 

“Exciting! I’ve always loved to read, but I’m bad with words, myself.”

 

Baekhyun thinks, distantly, that this boy never needed to use words. He’s so pretty, he never had to use language to influence people this way or that. All he ever had to do was smile. 

 

“How about you?”

 

“Oh, I work here in Paris. I dance for the Paris Opera Ballet.”

 

Baekhyun’s heart physically halts in his chest. He blinks, dumbfounded. There’s no way this can be real. “You dance for a ballet company.”

 

Jongin, naturally, looks a little bit confused. “...Yes?”

 

And he’s so exhausted, so drained, he’s undeniably at his breaking point, and no one can blame him when he bursts out into hysterical laughter. It’s all so serendipitous it’s stupid, and Baekhyun prefers the fluttery feeling taking comfort in his stomach than the dead weight that was there before. Jongin chuckles a little bit, looking on, puzzled and bewildered. 

 

“My book is about a ballerina,” Baekhyun, finally, explains.

 

“Oh! Neat! Well, I’d love to help in any way.”

 

Baekhyun, without using words for the first time in his life, thinks he’s already told Jongin just how much he’s already helped. His eyes say it, and the relaxation in his shoulders say it, and the way he laughed at the happenstance of it all, says it. Jongin understands, Baekhyun can see, by the soft, kind smile he returns. But all too soon, it’s Jongin’s stop, and he’s telling Baekhyun he’ll see him tomorrow as he slings his bag over his shoulder and walks away. 

 

Baekhyun, for the first time in ages, sleeps soundly that night.

 

\-----

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi.”

 

They're nothing but soft, warm smiles. They're still hardly acquaintances, but Baekhyun feels so comfortable with him. Perhaps it's the sense of serendipity, or the mysticism of being in a foreign city, foreign country, and finding something that feels like home. Perhaps, and it's the most likely option, it's just the kindness in this boy’s eyes. Such a soft, honeyed, cashmere texture. Like a warm cup of milk before bed, or a sweater knit for you by your grandmother. 

 

“Tell me, Baekhyun,” Jongin says. Baekhyun takes a deep breath. He’s wearing green, today. The shade makes his warm, bronze skin look so earthy, so natural. Vernality in its purest form. “Why are you running from your bride?”

 

Baekhyun blinks, dumbfounded. It feels pitiful, a slap to the face. It shocks him, terrifies him, to hear such a thing said aloud. He must correct it. “I’m not. Truly.”

 

“Then what are you running from?”

 

He thinks about how he spent his day, sleeping deep into the afternoon to make up for months and months of debilitating self-loathing. A coffee shop for dinner. The warming set of the early-summer sun. 

 

“I think it's more of a matter of what I’m running  _ to.” _

 

“Why did you have to go so far to find it? And all by yourself?”

 

And Baekhyun doesn't have an answer. He cannot, no matter how much time he has or how many words he can say, explain to Jongin the way he’s drowning. The way he’s endlessly, tirelessly, uselessly treading water, and his chin can never stay above the surface. How every breath feels like the air has been replaced with rancid, poisonous water, rotting him from his core and making him feel like a lifeless, infinitely bored version of himself. That perhaps, if he swims far enough from his spot, his feet will find earth, instead of endless depth below him.

 

“I came to Paris last year, with Taeyeon. That's-”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“We saw the Ballet together and that’s what sparked this story in me. You were probably in it, actually,” Baekhyun says with a small smile. 

 

“You wouldn't have noticed me. I’m only a principal dancer this year.” And, to that, Baekhyun blinks. 

 

“How old are you, Jongin?”

 

“I’m twenty-five.”

 

“Little young to already make principal aren't you?” Baekhyun knows this. He did his research when he took on this novel. Jongin just laughs, perfect teeth on full display. 

 

“Yeah, I guess the company just really likes me.”

 

Baekhyun cocks his head to the side, smiling warmly, eyes even warmer, skin the warmest. The conversation lulls and all that’s heard is the sound of the train speeding along its tracks below them. Baekhyun feels… easy. Like this is remarkably comfortable and simple, but without the inevitable boredom that comes attached to every sort of simplicity. 

 

“I came to Paris because this city is so full of romance and beauty,” Baekhyun continues, voice quiet. Jongin turns to look at him, wide, glimmering eyes. “How could you  _ not  _ find inspiration here?”

 

It takes Jongin a moment to respond, but he does so with an, “It sounds to me like you're asking yourself how you've done just that.”

 

Baekhyun can only smile cynically in response. 

 

There’s another moment of tranquil peace between them. Nothing is said, but thoughts are nearly audible. Baekhyun chews on his lip, feeling  _ guilty _ for hiding from his future wife and hating his writing and being unable to find joy in even the most joyous things. Jongin sits and brews with a frown, until they both know Jongin’s stop is approaching. 

 

“Get off with me,” Jongin is saying, eyes illuminated like his idea has physically sparked something within him. 

 

Baekhyun shakes his head, a bit puzzled. 

 

Jongin giggles, the sound of a butterfly’s wings. Says, “Come on! You need inspiration to feel better, right?”

 

And from Jongin’s mouth it sounds so  _ simple.  _ Like that's it. Like this feeling isn't eating Baekhyun alive and ruining his relationships with others.  _ Literally.  _ But, dumbfounded, he just nods, and Jongin beams and takes his hand, and Baekhyun doesn't think he’s real. 

 

Paris at midnight is an interesting alternate universe. It’s an entirely different world, it seems, the contrast between the bustling sunny streets during the day, and the tranquil, dancing shadows on the cobblestone as he and Jongin walk the back streets towards where Jongin’s apartment is. The air is just the smallest bit chilly, and damp like it's about to rain, and Baekhyun thinks that's yet  _ another  _ world; Paris when it rains. 

 

“I’ll just drop off my bag and then we can continue our walk,” Jongin says. They must be nearing his place, as he's veering them somewhat to the side, as though they'll be turning any moment. 

 

“Jongin, why are you always at the studio so late?”

 

Baekhyun was right, and soon they're bounding up Jongin’s front steps to his charming little townhouse. The boy smiles down at where he’s turning the key in the lock and pushing the door open. “I always stay behind to practice, more. They gave me a key to lock up and everything.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

Jongin’s little place is homey and charming and sweet. It’s narrow, as it’s comfortably nestled between two townhouses, just like every apartment on this stretch. But the floors are hardwood and the ceilings are high and Jongin keeps everything cozy, it's clear. Blankets drape over every bit of furniture, photos of family and friends cover every wall. It’s sweet, and it feels warm, and it reminds Baekhyun an awful lot of the boy himself. 

 

Jongin tosses his bag down behind the couch in the living area. He turns to Baekhyun. “I could take you into the studio, sometime. Show you around.”

 

“That would be… wonderful,” Baekhyun says, voice minuscule. It baffles him that something, someone, could do so much good for him. 

 

Jongin smiles, steps around Baekhyun and back toward the door. “Come on.”

 

Baekhyun follows, a tad dumbly. It’s still somewhat threatening to rain, but Baekhyun’s sure they have some time. But, then again, getting caught in the rain might be nice, refreshing, a bountiful source of romance and liveliness. Something about a warm summer downpour, especially in a stylish French neighbourhood, in the middle of the night. A breeze blows past, and Baekhyun shivers, and Jongin notices. Tentatively, Jongin reaches out, and pulls Baekhyun in against his side. It’s comfortable, and considerably warmer, and Jongin is just the right height for Baekhyun to tuck himself under his arm.

 

“Where are you taking me?”

 

“Wherever,” Jongin answers immediately, looking up at the street lamps above. “Waiting.”

 

“You want to get caught in the rain?” Baekhyun tilts his head back to look at him.

 

“You don't?” Jongin’s smile is so bright, so full of delight, it's impossible to not be entirely convinced. It’s odd. Baekhyun has spent his entire life warping words until he was irresistible. He didn't even ponder the possibility of being irresistible so effortlessly. Without any sort of persuasion. “The rain is cleansing. I feel as though you're so focused on filling yourself up, but I think you need to flush all the badness away, first.”

 

Baekhyun blinks, hums. He isn't sure how to feel about that. Besides, inevitably, a bit exposed. Jongin isn't wrong, far from it. Baekhyun came all this way in search of finding a part of himself, with the intention of adding to himself. He never thought about getting rid of a little bit of himself. Only the hollowness, the weight against his shoulders, the things he can afford to lose. He’s spent so long feeling incomplete, perhaps he's just been full of the wrong parts, is all.

 

They walk a little further, they separate, only so Jongin can place a hand around a lamp post and spin himself around. Baekhyun laughs, wondering if it's possible for a human being to contain so much grace and coordination. Surely, Baekhyun is just a half-formed human, hardly adequate. Or, perhaps, Jongin is some ethereal being, made of liquid gold and satin ribbons. Now, that's a thought.

  
  


The rain comes. It's a comfortable balance between a light mist and heavy drops, and Baekhyun tilts his head up toward the sky with his eyes closed and his mouth turned up in a smile. He stands in the middle of the street like this, at nearly one in the morning, letting the rain cleanse him of all the bitterness that's been seeping into his pores for so long. He feels a little weightless, like this is all a dream, in a fictional world where it’s totally normal to stand in the midnight rain in Paris in the summer. He likes this.

 

“See?” Jongin is saying. Baekhyun peeks an eye open to spot him spinning in circles, his arms spread out at his sides and his face turned up toward the sky, as well. “Cleansing.”

 

“You speak like a writer,” Baekhyun says. Jongin laughs. 

 

“I’m bad with words.”

 

And Baekhyun supposes he's right. He speaks in fragments and in questions. His words aren't fluent nor are they eloquent. But they evoke thought and wonder, and Baekhyun thinks that’s what truly makes a writer. Especially the fact that Jongin was absolutely right. 

 

The rain is cleansing. And as the water streams down the rolling, subtle hills of the streets, his problems sink into the gutters as well. Far, far away from him. It makes him feel a little lighter, enough to crack himself open and share his thoughts, plans, ideas. So he talks. Baekhyun talks and he talks and Jongin listens. Baekhyun talks about the bitterness that’s settled on his tongue and the roof of his mouth. And he talks about how lovely Taeyeon is and why he hates himself for resenting everything. He talks about his friends, about experimenting in college, about past possible loves and his current love. And why his only true love has been his writing. And why it feels so terrible that she just left him like this.

 

That’s why he came to Paris, really. Because he’s hunting down his only love, who packed up and left him without an explanation.

 

They're soaked to the bone. They wandered around aimlessly, or so Baekhyun thought, but he’s starting to recognize the street they're walking along. He thinks he sees Jongin’s house up ahead. 

 

“I have no idea how to get back to my hotel from here,” Baekhyun says. He shivers, his skin and his bones dripping wet. 

 

“That’s fine. I have dry clothes and a pull-out couch.”

 

Baekhyun frowns, not wanting to inconvenience Jongin at all. But, he hasn't much of a choice. It’s rainy and it’s dark, and Paris is a different place in the rain and in the dark, so it would be impossible for him to find his way. He accepts Jongin’s offer with a gentle smile, earning one even gentler in return. Baekhyun is glad that his trip to Paris has included a new acquaintance, a new friend. Jongin is lovely, kind enough to let Baekhyun speak without interruption. Baekhyun is clever with his words, he never speaks in circles, but Jongin is such a listening ear, Baekhyun felt as though his words kept coming around in a cycle of the good and the bad. 

 

Jongin lets Baekhyun change into a soft set of pajamas - which he positively drowns in - while he sets up the pull-out bed for him. When Baekhyun returns, Jongin giggles at how his clothes swallow tiny little Baekhyun up, but accepts his wet clothes to put in the dryer. They say their small, sweet  _ goodnights,  _ and Jongin leaves Baekhyun to rest. 

 

The bed isn't the most comfortable, but Baekhyun feels drained, in the best sort of way. He feels droopy, dreamy, and it doesn't take him long to fall asleep to the sounds of Jongin walking around upstairs, getting himself ready for bed. 

 

He dreams of a beautiful ballerina, dancing under a single spotlight. His subconscious, dream-state mind tells him her name is Elise.

 

\-----

 

When Baekhyun awakens, it’s mid-day. The sun illuminates the modest townhouse with a bright light, dust floating like glitter in the streams of sunlight that leak through the cracks in the blinds. Baekhyun stretches, groans, content. He feels anew, refreshed, a thousand times better than he had the morning before. 

 

His clothes are folded on the coffee table. He frowns as he climbs out of bed, spotting the note and the few euros sitting atop his folded clothes. 

 

_ This should be enough for a cab back to your hotel.  _

 

_ Don't worry about locking the door, I trust my neighbours. _

 

_ See you on the RER tonight! :) _

 

_ -Jongin  _

 

Baekhyun smiles to himself, putting the money aside, refusing to take it, and changing back into his clothes from yesterday. He takes his time stripping the bed and folding it back into the couch. He feels comfortable here. If there’s one thing to note about a certain Jongin, is that he’s comfortable. He breathes and speaks and touches comfort. He passes comfort along to everything he touches, everything he owns. It’s a lovely change, as Baekhyun has spent so much time feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. 

 

He takes a taxi back to his hotel, still feeling a little sleepy, but far from exhausted. It’s a good kind of sleepy, perhaps a form of dreamy. And when he closes the door to his hotel room behind him, he immediately walks toward the phone. 

 

There’s no chance of him calling Taeyeon. That’s a problem he doesn't want to deal with, he knows hearing her voice will flood him with that debilitating guilt. But he dials the number he's known longer than any other number in his contacts.

 

“What the fuck, Baekhyun,” Yixing greets. It’s fairly late over in Korea, right now. But Baek knows Yixing is always up late working, so it’s not like he woke him up.

 

“Uh. Hey.”

 

“I stopped by your place today, looking for you. Why in the ever loving fuck are you in  _ Paris?” _

 

Baekhyun fiddles with the hem of his shirt. He settles himself more comfortably into his bed, tucking the hotel phone between his ear and the pillow as he curls up on his side. 

 

“Because I was suffocating, Xing. I just… needed to at least get my writing in order, feel better about it. That way I’ll feel better about everything, you know?”

 

There’s a long moment where neither of them say anything. Baek has known Yixing so long, he knows that Yixing is frowning, right now, looking at the pen he’s twirling between his fingers, lips pursed. That’s always the way he looks when he's thinking hard enough. 

 

“You should see Tae,” Yixing says, quietly. Like he knows saying this is dangerous, and he tiptoes into it instead of saying it full-force. Considerate of him. “I’m not sure what a raw nerve ending looks like, but I’m sure that's what it is.”

 

Baekhyun chuckles, a little cynically. He doesn't like the way this feels.

 

“She’s so busy,” Yixing continues, “planning this wedding. A wedding she's afraid isn't even going to happen.”

 

Baekhyun sighs, lungs shaking. His skin tingles, like it's been peeled back and he’s all exposed wires and nerves. Like the slightest touch could set him off. He feels guilty, terrible, sad for Taeyeon. He didn't want to hurt her, not like this. Because, truly, he does care about her and wants her to be happy.

 

“I’m not running from her,” Baekhyun says, voice small. “I promise.”

 

“You really promise?”

 

A pause. “I think so.”

 

Yixing hums, almost giggles, like that's what he was waiting to hear. Baekhyun will never understand how Yixing pulls every bit of honesty from him, always has. Because even when he thinks he's so sure of everything, Yixing makes him blink, step back, ponder, and realize. 

 

“Listen, Baek, I love Taeyeon. But I love you more.” Those words make Baekhyun’s heart clench in his chest. “I want what’s best for you. And even though it sucks, I hope you fall in some crazy, whirlwind love, and find everything you deserve.”

 

A tear rolls down Baekhyun’s cheek. He didn't even notice the tears developing, but his back feels rigid and his chest feels tight. And perhaps because he’s done so much sharing, so much pouring, that he feels the need to say, “you know, I think I loved you. Back in freshman year.”

 

And Yixing says, “I know.”

 

Baekhyun smiles through his tears. Of course he knows. “Hey, I uh. I made a friend.”

 

“What are they like?”

 

Baek appreciates Yixing’s knowledge of Baekhyun, and knowing that this change of subject is what’s best. Baekhyun needs to talk to his best friend, but he doesn't need to discuss his problems. And Yixing fully understands that. 

 

“He’s a dancer from Korea. He’s kind and he doesn't say much. And he likes the rain.”

 

Yixing chuckles. A quiet, comforting sound. “Sounds a little too good to be true.”

 

“You know, he  _ might  _ be a figment of my imagination.” Baekhyun pauses to giggle. “He’s pretty enough to be made up.”

 

“Oh,  _ okay,”  _ Yixing says, like this is the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. “I’m starting to think my premise of a whirlwind romance might not be too far off.”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “I’m coming home to Tae, Yixing. I just gotta get out of my slump.”

 

“Don't say things you don't mean.”

 

And Baekhyun clenches his fists, because he hates that even from miles and miles away, through the receiver of a telephone, Yixing can still draw the truth out of Baekhyun without even trying. It drives him nuts, that around Yixing, he can't even lie to himself.

 

\-----

 

Baekhyun doesn't get off the train with Jongin again, but the next few days they still meet on the RER at midnight and they chat. Baek talks Jongin’s ear off about his novel - which, he’s actually been able to make some changes to. It sounds better, already, to him. It’s such a weight off his back, to even  _ somewhat _ like his writing again. 

 

“Why don't I read it?” Jongin says on a Thursday night. Baekhyun immediately starts nervously fidgeting. “Some outside input might help keep ideas flowing.”

 

Baekhyun chews at his lip a moment. He says, “I never let anyone read my stuff while it’s in progress. I’m not entirely sure why, I just don't like feeding people an unfinished product.”

 

Jongin says nothing. Just stares back at him with those wide, warm eyes of his. 

 

“Just,” Baekhyun continues, “perhaps it makes me feel inadequate. Allowing people to read something unfinished and unpolished.”

 

Jongin stares back at Baekhyun long enough that he’s beginning to get self-reflective. Like looking into Jongin’s eyes is like looking into a mirror, and Baekhyun is suddenly realizing how much that logic pertains to more than just his writing. The way that he’s so guarded off from showing imperfection, unable to share the problems eating away at him until he bursts and does something crazy. Like running away to Paris mere weeks before his wedding day. 

 

“Maybe,” Baekhyun finally gives in. “Okay, maybe you can read it.”

 

Jongin smiles. 

 

His stop is approaching, so Jongin shoulders his bag and regards Baekhyun with an excited smile. 

 

“Wear something nice tomorrow,” he says. “We’re going dancing.”

 

And then the train arrives at his stop, and Jongin is off.

 

\-----

 

Baekhyun dresses nice, the next evening. He spent the entire day holed up in his hotel room with his window open. He let the sounds of Paris below him fuel him as he wrote and he wrote. He changed previous conversations and monologues, added things here and there, and wrote an entire chapter on top of it all. Today felt productive, invigorating, and he feels good, slipping on his light blue dress shirt. He feels less itchy in his flesh, less like he's trying to escape. Comfortable.

 

He’s wearing the jeans he  _ knows  _ makes his ass look good - despite the weight loss; he  _ has  _ gained back a little, what with all the croissants he’s been eating - and he knows that the baby blue of his button down makes his skin look dewy and youthful. Taeyeon bought him this shirt for christmas, one year. It’s always been his favourite.

 

Jongin is wearing white. A white button down with a few buttons left open and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his endlessly long legs are bound tight in a snug pair of black jeans. Baekhyun  _ was  _ feeling good about the way he looks tonight. But, once again, he feels totally incompetent next to Jongin.

 

The dancer doesn't have his gym bag with him, which Baekhyun finds odd, but he figures he must have been prepared for tonight and found a way to leave everything at the studio, or something. When Jongin sits down next to Baekhyun, his smile is electric, and Baekhyun feels like someone has just charged him back to life with a shock to the chest. A defibrillator of sorts.

 

“Well, don't you look handsome?” Baekhyun says in lieu of a greeting.

 

Jongin’s smile softens. “I was about to say the same about you.” Baekhyun swells with pride. “What a handsome groom you'll be.”

 

Baekhyun deflates. He’s beginning to feel less and less like he wants to be a groom. He doesn't need the reminder. 

 

Jongin seems to notice the change in Baekhyun’s demeanour, as he’s soon announcing, “It’s a different stop, tonight. You’ll love this club. They make the best cocktails.”

 

Baekhyun, suddenly, feels parched, absolutely  _ thirsting _ for something to poison himself with. “Sounds like my kind of joint.”

 

The stop is much sooner than the one that’s near Jongin’s. It makes sense, as they're heading to the centre of the city, rather than the outskirts, where Jongin lives in the more residential area. Despite it being so late, the streets are bustling, and Baekhyun adores the stylishness, how positively  _ chic  _ Paris nightlife is. Go-go dresses and pin-striped shirts, fashionable haircuts and burgundy lipstick. Everything smells like wine and cigarettes, and it bleeds through Baekhyun’s veins and fuels his creative energy. He doesn't even remember that he ever felt so lifeless, when all around him, is so much variety, so much activity, so much beauty.

 

Jongin takes him to this bar called  _ Le Zéro Zéro  _ which is lined up down the street. They, however, completely bypass the line, and the bouncer lets them in with a familiar smile in Jongin’s direction. Baek has never felt so important.

 

“A friend of mine is a DJ, here,” Jongin explains, without being asked. Baekhyun nods.

 

The place is as stylish as it is crowded. The decor  _ screams _ of the 1970s, all dimly lit and walls covered floor-to-ceiling in an array of unintelligible graffiti. There’s barely any elbow room, but perhaps that’s the charm of it all, that once you're in, you don't mind that you have to dance with everyone around you. Every single patron is here for the same reason - get drunk, and dance until your feet get sore. 

 

“You  _ have  _ to order their house drink,” Jongin says, shouts, in Baekhyun’s ear. His breath is hot in his hair, and it tickles down his neck. “They guard this recipe with their life.”

 

Jongin orders them each a  _ Zéro Zéro,  _ and they wait while the bartender fixes them up for them. Jongin pays - with a fat tip, Baekhyun notices - and Baekhyun tentatively takes a sip. It’s gingery, delicious, and somewhat clarifying, despite the fact that it’s going to make him drunk. 

 

“Delicious,” he says, too quiet for a place this loud. 

 

Jongin grabs his wrist. “Dance!” 

 

The dance floor is even more crowded than the bar area, but that's just fine. Two songs in, it gets to a point where you don't feel the need to safeguard your drink. You're okay with spilling it all over yourself and the others around you. Delirious from all the body heat and the ceaseless beat of the bass, rattling you from the soles of your feet up to your rib cage. Everyone is too close, but it's just evocative, just thrilling enough that you don't feel shame. Baekhyun’s barely had a drink, but he feels drunk, on the music, on the people, on the feeling of Jongin’s hand on his hip, ensuring that neither of them get swallowed up in the crowd. He’s sure his carefully styled hair is a complete mess, now, stuck to his forehead and the nape of his neck, but he’s content with  _ everything,  _ right now. Nothing could knock him down from here.

 

Jongin’s hand slides from his hip to his hand, somehow, and he’s being pulled along. They weave through the crowd, toward the DJ booth, and Baekhyun is giggling for reasons unknown to him. Jongin’s back is soaked with sweat, and his white shirt is becoming a bit translucent, brown skin noticeable through fading white. Baekhyun can't look away.

 

The DJ is tall, and he’s Asian, as well. Jongin is shouting a name and waving, and Baekhyun reads his lips, and decides that this  _ Chanyeol  _ is Korean, indeed. The DJ - Chanyeol - notices them, waves to the bouncer at the entrance to let them up, and soon they're bounding up the stairs onto the stage. The club looks amazing, from this vantage point, hundreds of different bodies and colours all moving in tandem, working together to the beat of Chanyeol’s - hypothetical - drum. 

 

Chanyeol pushes the headphones down from his ears to around his neck. It’s less loud up here, as all the speakers are out on the dance floor, and Baekhyun can hear himself thinking again. And he suddenly realizes he’s still holding Jongin’s hand. He lets go.

 

“Hey!” Chanyeol says, smile so wide it seems impossible. “Who are you?”

 

“This is Baekhyun,” Jongin supplies. “A groom-to-be!” 

 

Baekhyun shudders, but keeps his smile. He shakes Chanyeol’s hand as Jongin introduces him. The two of them - Jongin and Chanyeol - make a bit of small talk that Baekhyun pays no mind to. Rather, he watches the crowd and misses the heat. He wants to go back out, perhaps get another drink, distract himself from his feelings. 

 

He tunes in just in time to hear Jongin say, “anyway, just wanted to come up and say hi. Coffee next week?”

 

And Chanyeol says, “Sure, just let me know. Nice meeting you, Baekhyun!”

 

And Baekhyun smiles and waves his goodbye, and soon he’s following Jongin back down the stairs. 

 

Jongin turns. “Drink?”

 

“Drink.”

 

\-----

 

They decide to walk home to Jongin’s. Apparently, it’s hardly a twenty minute walk, and they're both just tipsy enough to deem it a good idea. The night is clear, at least, and Paris is beautiful a midnight, but it’s even better at three in the morning. The fresh air tastes like heaven, after breathing in recycled air for so long.

 

“Baek, can I ask you something?” Jongin says, about five minutes into the walk. The breeze tosses his damp bangs across his forehead, while all it does is send unpleasant shivers through Baekhyun. Baekhyun hums noncommittally. “Why are you getting married if you freeze up every time someone mentions it?”

 

Baekhyun is just drunk enough to speak in riddles, and with a kick to a loose pebble on the street, he says, “because she doesn't hurt me.”

 

Jongin giggles. “But isn't that a good thing?”

 

Baekhyun sighs. “That’s just the thing, though, right? Us writers, we’re such romantics, we believe that love is supposed to feel like a punch to the gut.” Jongin laughs at that, loudly enough that it bounces off the cobblestone streets. “No, really! It’s supposed to hurt and it’s supposed to be overwhelming. It’s supposed to leave a bruise and have you doubling over. Have your head spinning and your nerves tingling and all you can feel, all you can  _ think about  _ is the throbbing in your gut.”

 

Jongin says nothing. He smiles small, absorbing this information, watching his feet as he walks along. Baekhyun decides to continue, because his alcohol-soaked tongue doesn't know when to stop.

 

“You're supposed to be breathless, adrenaline pumping through your veins. And you don't want to hit back. Because you like it. You lie back and wait for more blows. Maybe the next one will be to the jaw. Who knows? You love to hurt. It’s sick, and it's sadistic, and why we, as people, as writers, as romantics, keep  _ insisting _ on falling in love, over and over, repeatedly, repeatedly, is beyond me. It’s bad for us, yet we thrive on it. What’s with that?”

 

Jongin hums. “The same reason people sky dive, or kickbox, or poison ourselves til we’re vomiting, I guess. The thrill.”

 

“The  _ thrill. _ ” It tastes bitter, even as Baekhyun says it aloud.

 

“What?” Jongin says. “You seem distant, what’s on your mind?”

 

“The thrill.”

 

“What about the thrill?”

 

It takes Baekhyun a moment to answer. His mind is a little bit foggy, but this still feels crystal clear to him. “I haven't felt the thrill in a long time.”

 

Jongin pauses, as well. They're drifting closer, inch by inch, as they walk. “But your fiancée… what about her?”

 

“I guess she just never really punched me in the gut.” Jongin laughs at that. He’s giggly when he drinks, isn't he? “Don't laugh. It’s true.”

 

“Well, why the hell are you marrying her, you hopeless romantic?”

 

“Don't say things like that. Please.”

 

Jongin nods, looking a little bit like a kicked puppy. Baekhyun feels that familiar weight of dread in his stomach again. The first punch to the gut Baekhyun ever felt was from his writing. The second was with Yixing, seemingly a hundred years ago. Taeyeon never hit him full force. Taeyeon settled into his life naturally and peacefully. It was all comfortable, all golden, all rose coloured glasses and expensive company. He sighs.

 

“Call it the romantic in me,” Baekhyun says, “but… I think I’m marrying her because everything was so easy with her that it must be meant to be, you know?”

 

Jongin hums, looks up at the stars. They're beginning to get more visible, the further from the city they get. “Yeah, I get that.” Then, he skips ahead, doing sloppy pirouettes while Baekhyun watches on, laughing. “I’d still rather a punch to the gut, though.”

 

And, yeah, Baekhyun thinks, him too.

 

Baekhyun insists that Jongin doesn't bother with the pull-out bed, tonight, that he’s so exhausted from all the drinking and dancing that he’ll be more than comfortable just sleeping on the couch. Jongin frowns and visibly considers fighting it, but he gives in, eventually, and tosses some pajamas at Baekhyun before disappearing upstairs for the night. 

 

Drowning in Jongin’s clothes and burrowing himself in blankets, Baekhyun falls asleep thinking about Taeyeon in a pair of boxing gloves. It’s so ridiculous, she's far too classy to resort to violence. She fights with words - and wonderfully so - as the smart, quick woman she is. And Baekhyun thinks about how he does love her, dearly, but wonders whether it’s the right kind of love for him to attach himself to for the rest of his life. 

 

\-----

 

Jongin reads Baekhyun’s manuscript. He’s only about two-thirds of the way through the plot, and he knows some things still need fixed, but Jongin was right. What he was doing before wasn't working. He needs some change in routine. An outsider’s opinion might help.

 

He had emailed it to Jongin on a Tuesday night. The Wednesday after, Jongin said he was still working on it, but it was pretty good so far. By Thursday, Jongin has completed it, and they sit on the train, in their usual spot, discussing it.

 

“Your characters are great. Likeable,” Jongin is saying, and Baekhyun is listening so intently he feels as though his eyes might pop out of his skull. “It’s easy to grieve Elise’s career alongside her.”

 

“Okay…” Baekhyun says, waiting for the criticism.

 

“You’re going to make Elise and her friend, Marise, fall in love, right?”

 

Baekhyun blinks. “What?”

 

“Marise, her friend who gets her role after her injury-”

 

“Yeah, I know the character, I  _ wrote her,”  _ Baekhyun says. “She… she represents the career Elise  _ could  _ have had-”

 

“Yeah, I get that,” Jongin interrupts. Baekhyun blinks. Jongin  _ never  _ interrupts. “Which is exactly why they should fall in love, don't you think?”

 

And Baekhyun feels something within himself open up. Because, yes, Jongin is absolutely right. Elise, in the end, is content with what life has given her, and feels no resentment toward the success of her best friend. But, this is even better, being in love with the life you could have had, while still finding contentment in the one you stumble upon. It’s perfect. Why hadn't Baekhyun let others read his works in progress before?

 

Well, he knows why. But, still. 

 

He’s realizing, as days go by, that all his scenes, even if he doesn't specify, feel as though they take place at night. He spends his days writing, and his nights on the train, talking to Jongin. Sometimes they’ll get off and go for a walk, they talk and they share ideas and ideals, and Baekhyun absorbs the world around him. But it's always  _ at night.  _ Jongin works all day, and Baekhyun writes all day, and he’s feeding his imagination with Paris at midnight. Even in scenes and chapters where he never mentions the time of day, or where the sun is in the sky, it feels like it’s at night, to him, and he just can't have that.

 

It’s noon on a Wednesday and it is sunny and it is warm. He grabs lunch at a little cafe right near his apartment. He’s glad the food here is so good, as his cheeks are once again rosy, and his clothes are beginning to once again fit. He rents a bike and rides it all through the city, letting the sun warm his face, the smell of bakeries and of wine and of cigarettes saturating his senses and bringing him to life. If he had a choice, he would never leave. But there’s an awful lot drawing him back home.

 

It’s been about two-and-a-half weeks since he first met Jongin on the RER in the middle of the night. His book has made great progress, and there is an ending in sight, and Baekhyun can’t believe how bright, how vivid, how lively he feels. His skin is warm and soft, not tight and brittle. He permanently feels dizzy in such a giddy, ecstatic way, instead of the unease he felt before. Less than three weeks of productive writing is all it took for Baekhyun to feel entirely made anew. He owes it all to the way Jongin urges him this way or that, without even a single word.

 

When he gets back to his hotel, he checks his laptop. He has an email from Jongin, and with a curious quirk to his brow, he opens it. It’s an address, followed by a  _ meet me at 9pm  _ and Baekhyun blinks. It must be the studio, where Jongin dances. He feels his heart plummet in his chest, beating erratically, because this is important to Baekhyun and his writing. Jongin had told Baekhyun that while his depictions of the choreography he’d put together in his writing were pretty good, they weren't quite perfect. And now is his chance to go and learn and expand his knowledge.

 

He’s also a little nervous about seeing Jongin dance. He’s afraid it’ll make him cry, or die, or a combination of both.

 

It’s still only early in the evening, so Baekhyun takes his time showering, letting his mind wander as he stands under the spray. The shower has always been his best thinking place, and he thinks about how Jongin kept him out in the rain because it’s cleansing, and he laughs to himself because he had questioned his motives though he's been doing the same thing in the shower his whole life. Just like under the spray of the shower, under the spray of the rain, his mind had cleared and his thoughts were vivid and sure. 

 

A weight settles itself into his gut as he recalls a particular thought. How he realized he came to Paris because his love - his inspiration, his writing, his muse - had packed up and left without warning. 

 

And he kind of did the exact same thing, didn't he?

 

He shuts the water off, but he doesn't get out. He stands, shivering, and ponders giving Taeyeon a call, just so they can touch base. He knows it’ll be bitter, though, and he's been in such a good mood all day. 

 

To reassure himself, he tells himself that - unlike Baekhyun and his writing - Taeyeon doesn't have to chase after him. Because he’ll be going back on his own. At least, he thinks so. He  _ should.  _ Right?

 

Time disappears on him, and soon he’s grabbing his wallet and heading out to find Jongin’s studio. He decides to walk it, as he needs the air, the time to think, because his good mood had dissipated and he's feeling a bit drained. 

 

And it’s perhaps a bit disconcerting, the way Baekhyun’s shoulders deflate at the sight of Jongin, waiting in the lobby of the studio for him. He's wearing a smile, as well as skin-tight leotards, and Baekhyun’s first instinct is to snort out a laugh. Jongin rolls his eyes, gesturing for Baekhyun to follow him back up to the studios. 

 

Baekhyun’s second instinct is to force himself not to swoon. Jongin has the longest legs he’s ever seen in his life. 

 

The entire facility is so stunning in such a juxtaposed way. Everything looks overworked, faded paint on the walls, dulling fluorescent lights, dirty parallel bars. Old costumes hang from hooks and benches with wood so faded from use. It’s a lot like ballet itself, Baekhyun thinks. Overworked and worn down, but beautiful all the same. 

 

Baekhyun wanders. Jongin waits for him at the juncture of a corridor, but Baekhyun studies his surroundings and tries to memorize it all. He stands amongst the parallel bars, even tries a plié, which he knows is a little off-balance. Jongin laughs at him, and Baekhyun sticks his tongue out, and neither of them have said anything aloud since Baekhyun arrived, but he feels as though he's receiving so much. 

 

He moves on, then, walking up to Jongin so the dancer can continue to lead the way. However, Jongin doesn't move. He stays leaning against the wall, his arms crossed across his chest, smiling down at Baekhyun with a funny little sparkle in his eye. 

 

“Hi, by the way,” Jongin says. 

 

Baekhyun tries to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. “You're a little sweaty,” he says, for reasons he’ll never know. 

 

Jongin barks out a laugh, finally turning to head down the corridor. “I have been dancing all day, you know.”

 

Baekhyun, who normally has to force himself to stop the flow of words, has nothing to say. He follows along silently.

 

The studio Jongin takes him to isn’t very large. The polish on the floor has worn away from being danced upon so thoroughly. Jongin’s things are tucked away in a corner of the room, and Baekhyun slides down to sit on the floor, back against the mirror. 

 

Jongin does a lazy little pirouette, looking completely at home. Baekhyun smiles to himself, deciding that, yes, this is definitely Jongin’s favourite studio in the whole building. This is exactly where he belongs, in all his grace and all his elegance. Baekhyun, once again, feels completely incompetent in comparison to Kim Jongin. 

 

“You did research for the choreography, I can tell,” Jongin says, lunging his weight onto one foot, arching back, looking so effortlessly graceful it’s ridiculous. Baekhyun hums his response, distracted by the lines of Jongin’s body as he slowly twists and turns his way through simple moves and positions. “Now, I’m no elegant little ballerina, but I’ll do my best at the prima’s choreography.”

 

“Sure,” Baekhyun says with a nod. 

 

It’s impossible not to smile, especially since Jongin is humming the music to himself as he flows through the choreography. He’s stunning to watch, undeniably, despite the fact that it’s clear the choreography is built for a petite and delicate prima ballerina, en pointe. He still pulls it off, always on the balls of his feet, back straight and shoulders relaxed. And Baekhyun can tell where he went wrong in his written description. And he knows how to fix it. 

 

He ponders, a tad distantly, just what he did to deserve stumbling into something so perfectly fitting for his current situation. Where on earth would he be without the boy before him, dancing a role he’s never performed, yet looking unprecedentedly ethereal. No human has ever been so flawless, Baekhyun thinks. 

 

Time is a foreign concept, as Baekhyun hasn't a clue how much time goes by before Jongin is reaching for him, coaxing him out of his shoes and sock-footed.

 

“You're small enough,” Jongin muses, a giggle on his lips. “Just follow my lead. You're the princess.”

 

“Flatterer.”

 

It’s completely sloppy and unpracticed, and Baekhyun trips over his own feet more than he trips over Jongin’s. But, damn, if it isn't fun. 

 

The worst part is that Jongin can lift Baekhyun up without issue. He grunts the first time, tells Baek he’s heavier than he looks, but every lift from that point on is executed perfectly, and Baekhyun is dizzy. Possibly from all the spinning. But it could be something else. 

 

They stay far later than Jongin usually does. Baekhyun waits, impatiently, while Jongin showers and locks up. And with damp hair and eyes that are shining way too bright for being outside at midnight, Jongin turns to him before they get on the RER. 

 

“How much are you paying for your hotel?” He asks. 

 

Baekhyun shrugs. “It's a bit pricey, but there's nothing i can do about it.”

 

Jongin shakes his head, settling down in a seat and pulling at Baekhyun’s wrist until he sits, as well. “Check out tomorrow and come stay with me. It’s free, I have decent wifi and a pull-out couch.”

 

The figurative hole in Baekhyun’s pocket is shouting in agreement, but his conscience is telling him that it’s a  _ bad  _ idea. That the intimacy of living with someone, even if it’s just to crash on their couch, is dangerous. Because despite his recently developed fear of his future, of whatever commitment he agreed to make, he still has a fiancée at home, who is beautiful and smart, and planning a wedding without him. His throat constricts and his chest tightens.

 

He blinks up at his friend, tries to find a way to turn him down without drawing attention to his insecurities. “Please, I couldn’t put you out like that.”

 

Jongin, however, is immediately shaking his head. “It’s not a problem at all, Baek. Really. It’ll be nice coming home to someone already there.”

 

Baekhyun tries to ignore the ache between his ribs at the way Jongin smiles so sweetly at him. “It gets lonely living by yourself.”

 

And Baekhyun completely understands that. And can’t help but feel as though he knows exactly what loneliness feels like, even waking up to someone on the other side of the bed, who always sleeps on her left side, her hands folded and tucked beneath her cheek. He figures that when you know someone well enough, so intimately, that the way they sleep is just common knowledge, perhaps you shouldn’t feel loneliness around them anymore. Because they  _ should  _ be a part of you.

 

He knows it’s bad, deciding to bring his bags over to Jongin’s cozy townhouse. But, despite his insecurities, despite the fact that this somehow feels like  _ betrayal,  _ he nods. However reluctantly it may be, he nods.

 

And Jongin smiles so bright Baekhyun needs to blink, curling his fingers into the fabric of his jeans.

 

\-----

 

Jongin bleeds, breathes, positively  _ emits  _ comfort.

 

Moving in with him was simple, and Baekhyun found it unbearably endearing, how excited Jongin was about having a roommate, even if just for a little while. And Baekhyun couldn’t help but feel like the cozy furniture, the pieces of Jongin that are absolutely  _ everywhere,  _ are all better than the uniform decor of his lonely little hotel room. It even helps with his writing, he notes, feeling inexplicably at home. Even in a place he’s only been staying for a couple of days, now.

 

They fall into rhythm quickly. Baekhyun gets up early with Jongin every morning, and they have breakfast and coffee and they talk about their dreams from the night before. Baekhyun is always a tad reluctant to share with Jongin how active of a role the latter plays in his dreams. Jongin, however, is always leaping at the chance to share with Baekhyun just what he was up to in his dreams last night.

 

Baekhyun is in the middle of baking a batch of muffins in Jongin’s kitchen when he starts to feel a little lonely. He’s already grown so accustomed to how it feels to have someone with him, talking with him, sharing space and air and thoughts with him, that when Jongin is off perfecting his pirouettes, Baekhyun is craving company. 

 

He dials Yixing on Jongin’s landline. He’d been happy to know Jongin has a landline with an international calling plan. He hadn’t even considered the idea that Jongin did, indeed, have family back home, too.

 

“Baekhyun,” Yixing answers.

 

“You knew it was me!”

 

“Well the caller ID said it was a caller from  _ France,  _ so, you know, I figured it would be the only person I know who’s in France.”

 

Baekhyun smiles, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can continue mixing the batter. The kitchen smells like bananas.

 

“Yeah, was just getting lonely, figured I’d give you a call.”

 

“Mhmm,” Yixing says, contemplatively. Baekhyun realizes, belatedly, that it’s ridiculously late in Seoul, right now. But, he’s desperate for company, and if Yixing’s up, Yixing’s up. “Not to bring it up, or anything, but you know who else is looking a little lo-”

 

“No! Don’t finish that sentence!”

 

Yixing chuckles, suddenly sounding as tired as he should be. Baekhyun would apologize for keeping Yixing up, he really would, but he’s grown accustomed to being a pain in Yixing’s side after all these years. It’s in his job description, at this point. 

 

“How are you?” Yixing says, after a moment. 

 

Baekhyun breathes. “I’m better than I’ve been in a long time.”

 

Yixing hums, audibly pleased with this answer. He continues, “Are you ever coming home?”

 

And Baekhyun has to hold back his frustrated sigh because he's sick of hearing about  _ home.  _ Home, home, home, he has to go  _ home.  _ He’s tired of the constant reminder, the ever-present looming dread of knowing he’ll have to leave this place, go back to Seoul where he’ll be drowned in expectations and melancholy. He’s bored to death of hearing about  _ home.  _

 

He tries to ignore what that means.

 

“Yes, Yixing, I’m coming home,” he says, pouring that batter into the muffin tin. “I mean to. Nothing has felt like the right time yet, is all.”

 

The silence on the other end is enough confirmation for Baekhyun, evident that Yixing does not believe a word he’s said. 

 

Luckily, Yixing doesn't dwell on it. Instead, he asks about his novel, and Baekhyun tells him all about it. Yixing laughs with him and chats with him and it’s delightful, and Baekhyun does miss him. But in a different way than he's missing  _ home.  _ In a way, he’s always kind of missed Yixing, even if the man was sitting right next to him. 

 

“So what are you up to, now? Besides writing,” Yixing says, sometime later. Baekhyun is just checking on the muffins, using a toothpick to ensure that they're baked. 

 

They aren't. So he puts them back in the oven for a little while longer. “Not too much,” he says. “I relocated to my dancer friend’s pull-out couch, however.” 

 

“Oh, right, the pretty one,” Yixing says, words audibly distorted around a grin. “How could I forget about him?”

 

“It’s not like that, Yixing.”

 

“Isn't it?”

 

And, somehow, Baekhyun can't find it in him to say,  _ “It’s not.”  _

 

They aren't on the phone much longer, after that. But now Baekhyun is a bit rattled, a tad shaken up, the way Yixing always leaves him. How  _ dare  _ he know Baekhyun better than Baekhyun knows himself? It’s unfair, to be constantly blindsiding him like that. 

 

Instead of dwelling on it, sitting and brewing until he implodes, he decides to go write, because the addition of Marise and Elise’s romance has beefed up the plot a little bit, and there's seemingly more and more to write with each passing day and Baekhyun really  _ must  _ catch up with his imagination. So with the windows open on a warm afternoon, the smell of freshly baked muffins filling the room, Baekhyun sits down to write, because that's what he does best. 

 

He has dinner ready for when Jongin gets home. The dancer has stopped staying behind at the studio so late, recently. Baekhyun shrugs off the feeling that it's because Jongin would rather spend time with him. Surely, he just considers it polite to be home with his company as much as possible. 

 

And everything is so easy, like this. He spends his time alone writing, but once Jongin comes home he has company, someone he enjoys spending time with. They’ll find some show to watch and talk over, crack jokes over, because Jongin seems to think everything Baekhyun says is funny, and Baekhyun likes seeing the way Jongin curls up and kicks about a bit when he laughs hard enough. And it’s so  _ easy,  _ just existing in this setting, alongside him. He doesn't feel like he's struggling to stay afloat, struggling for air. He feels as though his feet have found the earth beneath him, and the water is only up to his shoulders, and if he really wanted, he could just lay back and float. It’s been a long time since Baekhyun hasn't felt like he was draining himself of his own energy, merely trying to exist. 

 

\-----

 

It’s a Sunday afternoon, and while the sun is out and bright and shameless, the air is beginning to cool as summer crawls toward autumn and time continues ticking. Baekhyun is walking alongside Jongin, along the paved pathways through  _ Parc des Buttes Chaumont  _ arm-in-arm. His belly is full - after a satisfying lunch with Chanyeol - and his skin is warm from the sun shining vividly above him. 

 

Today is perfect. Baekhyun has decided as much. 

 

The park is beautiful and is doing much to invigorate him, refresh his mind and fuel his creativity. He’s happy, he realizes. A happiness he hasn't felt in a long time. Like everything is  _ just right,  _ just like this, and he needn’t reach for any more. The day is clear and stunning, the grass green and the trees flourishing. And Jongin is quiet by his side, as always, but his company alone speaks in uncountable abundances. 

 

Baekhyun, taking advantage of the serenity of today, the easiness of his current mood, decides to ask, “Why were you so nice to me from the start?”

 

Jongin turns to look at him, a gentle furrow in his brow and a gentle frown on his lips. The sunlight makes his eyes look like honey. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean,” Baekhyun says, turning away to look at the path ahead of them, “I was so miserable from the beginning. How could you even stand to be near me?”

 

He doesn't even need to glance to his side to know that Jongin’s eyes are crinkling in amusement, shining as he thinks and thinks. The boy is terrible for that. His thoughts being laid out so visibly in his gaze. 

 

“I suppose,” Jongin starts, but pauses, as if trying to find the right words. He tilts his face up toward the sunlight, bright and warm and beautiful. “Even with all your sadness, you were still… I don't know…”

 

It takes him a moment to think of the words. Careful, he is.

 

“You dazzle. Always. Even when you're sad, you're bright.” A pause. A breath. Baekhyun can't help the frown on his face, unable to truly process such a gracious compliment. “Like the sun.”

 

Baekhyun looks up at the sun in question. “I don't think the sun feels sadness.”

 

Jongin giggles, pixie wings and the crunch of leaves beneath your feet. Something spreads in Baekhyun that he can't comprehend. “Perhaps. But you know what I mean.”

 

Baekhyun doesn't think he does. Or perhaps? He can't be sure. Instead he’s flooded with this feeling, this ache and this dizziness and this flood of adrenaline. His blood pumping as if viscous like syrup, tingling from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes. He struggles to keep in step with Jongin, his long legs and endless grace, but Baekhyun's thoughts stumble more than his feet. 

 

A punch to the gut. 

 

Instead of panic, Baekhyun only feels relief. Perhaps he was beginning to feel like he’ll never experience it again. His smile, wide, brilliant, perhaps all bright and dazzling like Jongin said, takes over his face. He doesn't know what to say, or how to say it - whatever it may be. But he’s content to know, to realize, to accept it. 

 

He feels like, for the first time in a long time, he has complete understanding of the way he's feeling. And with understanding, comes contentment. 

 

“Jonginnie,” Baekhyun says, sidling up closer and tucking himself into Jongin’s side tighter, “I like you.”

 

Jongin only smiles down at him in return, all handsome lines and warm textures. And perhaps if Baekhyun is so dazzling and vibrant like the sun, then Jongin is subtle and gorgeous like the moon. Changing tides and illuminating the world when the sun is in hiding. 

 

Baekhyun doesn't know what to say, but he does know what to do. The only problem, however, is how difficult it's going to be. 

 

\----

 

Monday is lonely. Having an entire weekend of Jongin’s company makes the Monday after positively ache. Baekhyun has never in his life craved someone’s attention like he does Jongin’s. And that is saying an awful lot. 

 

The worst of it all is he  _ knows  _ an empty house means now is his chance. And he paces the floor in front of where the landline hangs upon the wall, mocking him, goading him, reminding him what he  _ has _ to do, or else he's the worst human on the planet. 

 

His hands tremble as he finally, hesitantly, picks the phone up from the base. He stares at the keys, the numbers for some time before he presses the first number. Then the second. And the next and next until it's ringing and ringing and he struggles for breath. 

 

She answers on the third ring with a rushed, breathless, “hey.”

 

“Is this a bad time?” Baekhyun blinks, colour draining from his face. He glances at the clock. It should be some time in the evening over in Korea. 

 

“No, no.” She rushes out. Through the receiver, Baekhyun can hear the tinkling of her keys, the clicking of the door locking behind her. “I just got home, actually.”

 

Baekhyun smiles, comforted by the sound of her voice. Really and truly, Taeyeon means the universe to him. He does adore her, admire her, and the sound of her voice is familiar and welcome. He does miss her, he really does, and speaking to her now is what's bringing such feeling to attention, full force. 

 

“Why, Taeyeon,” Baekhyun says, unable to hide the wistful smile in his voice, “it appears I miss you!”

 

She laughs, though the laughter sounds a bit sad. It makes Baekhyun clench his free hand into a fist at his side. “I miss you too, Baekhyun.”

 

There’s a long moment where neither of them say anything. Perhaps, on Taeyeon’s end, she just doesn't know what to say, or knows she has to wait for Baekhyun to speak. But Baekhyun is panicking, pacing back and forth and counting his breaths, counting Taeyeon’s breaths, audible through the receiver. 

 

It's impossible to ignore the guilt brewing low in his belly, setting his nerves aflame and his mind in disarray. It’s soul-eating, the feeling of dread, knowing that he’s doing nothing more than breaking her heart, only to buy himself his own freedom. 

 

Freedom. It makes it sound as though he’s living in shackles, like his engagement is his prison, and it makes him sick to even think of it that way.

 

He isn't trying to free himself. He doesn't want freedom merely so he can tumble into Jongin's arms and remain there for as long as he's permitted. Rather, he’s freeing Taeyeon, from being held down by a promise made by someone who can't keep it. It’s unfair to her, for him to draw this out so long, keep himself promised to her, when his heart remains elsewhere. 

 

Baekhyun just needs to set her free, and hope with every inch of him that she will not resent him. 

 

It’s Taeyeon who finally speaks first. “This is the phone call, isn't it?”

 

Baekhyun sucks in a deep breath. “Tae-”

 

“I've been waiting for this call. Since the day I came home and realized you left for Paris.”

 

Baekhyun has nothing to say. 

 

She continues, “I’ve just been counting the days. I knew it all ended the moment you packed your bags.”

 

Her voice, though steady and sure like she always is, sounds damp, dripping around the edges, and Baekhyun can physically feel his heart shattering. 

 

“Taeyeon, I can assure you,” he says, “that I had every intention of coming home to you.”

 

He’s expecting her to ask what changed. He’s waiting for her to bring up his disloyalty, to ask him about his change of heart.  _ Why couldn't you keep your promise, Baekhyun? Why, why, why? _

 

Instead, she says, “It’s alright.”

 

And Baekhyun was wrong.  _ Now  _ is when he hears, feels, tastes his heart shatter into bits. “It isn't.”

 

“No, it… it is.”

 

Her voice is saturated in a sadness, sure, but there's also a hint of nostalgia, acceptance, understanding in her voice. And Baekhyun decides not to question it, because he knows she has always been smarter than him, anyway. 

 

“I knew…” She starts, but trails off. Baekhyun blinks and everything is blurry. “I always knew you never  _ really  _ loved me-”

 

“Taeyeon, you know that's not true.”

 

But, she  _ has  _ always been smarter than him.

 

“No, Baekhyun, listen.” There’s a long moment, as if she's collecting all her thoughts into one, linear, straightforward argument. Oh, how Baekhyun admires this woman and all her intelligence and all her composure. “You cared about me, and you merely accepted my love. Nothing more, and nothing less.”

 

“Taeyeon, you know I loved you, and I’ll always love you.”

 

“Not in the right way, though,” she says, as if plucking every thought Baekhyun has had these past few weeks right out of his mind and vocalizing it aloud. “I thought I could keep it up. Let you marry me and pretend to be happy, so selfish of me to think I could let you do that.”

 

He’s grateful the cord that attaches the phone to its base is long enough that he can sit down, back against the wall, because his knees felt moments from giving out on him. His chest burns and his eyes sting, and he gnaws on his bottom lip, waiting for her to say something that will  _ finally  _ wrap up all this clambering in his mind. One thing to make it all make sense, so it can stop spinning and banging and crashing in his mind, so it can calm from white water rapids, to the steady flow of a peaceful river. 

 

“It was a relief, when you left. I was happy that you could finally figure it out for yourself. You can't marry me, Baekhyun, because you’ll never love me the way you want to.”

 

A sob pushes up from his chest, accompanied by a dreadful weight he hadn't realized was there. A weight that’s been there so long, he thought it was ordinary. He breathes in, out, in again. It feels much like freedom. And he can hear wet but honest chuckles on the other end, a disbelieving sort of combination of tears and laughter, and he supposes she must be feeling freedom, too. No one is waiting, any longer, for something that could never come to pass.

 

A relief, it is. Really and truly.

 

They just sit there and listen to each other sniffle for a little bit. Baekhyun feels it, in his mind, a steady, calm flow. The current is strong, but it's sturdy and sure, and he lets his thoughts float along it. It’s a truly remarkable thing, being completely at peace. 

 

Taeyeon, eventually, says, “So what’s her name?”

 

“Hm?” Baekhyun asks, brows furrowing. 

 

“The reason you realized you couldn't come home.”

 

Baekhyun bites his lip, feeling a little guilty that his smile spread so easily and broadly across his face. Just at the mere thought of him. “Uh…  _ his _ name is Jongin, actually.”

 

“hmmm,” she hums, and it's as if Baekhyun can hear all of her thoughts connecting into one full picture. “That explains a lot, actually. Like the way you used to look at Yixing.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” he teases. She chuckles, a soft, small sound. 

 

“I am sad, Baekhyun,” she says, both matter-of-factly and gently. “I’m sad that what we had was never real, and the way I felt was never completely reciprocated, but… I know it isn't your fault, dear. I know you just wanted to do what you felt was the right thing to do.”

 

“Please,” Baekhyun huffs, picking at a loose thread in the seam of his jeans. “Have you met yourself? How could I  _ not _ convince myself I was in love with you?”

 

She laughs, fully, this time. Perhaps a tad incredulous. “You're a fucking flatterer, Byun Baekhyun. Your mouth is your greatest weapon.”

 

“Of mass destruction, I hope?”

 

She sighs, exasperated with Baekhyun’s permanent flirtatiousness. “I love you, you heartbreaker. But, I’ll get over you.”

 

“Oh, Taeyeon. You sure know how to make a man feel special.”

 

\-----

 

Hours drag between when he and Taeyeon end the call and Jongin comes home from the studio. When it’s finally ticking into the evening, the sun gone past the horizon, the only light in the living room supplied by the hum of the television, is when Jongin steps through the door, accompanied by the smell of baked goods and melting chocolate. Baekhyun doesn't move from where he’s curled up on the couch, staring absently at the stylish, black and white french film playing on the TV, tuned to the channel that plays classic films, that Jongin always leaves it on when he isn't watching anime. 

 

“Hey,” Jongin calls from the entranceway. Baekhyun can hear the sound of him dropping his bag, then the shuffle of his footsteps as he wanders about the kitchen. “You know Madame Daoust, who owns the little bakery by the RER station?” There’s the clanging of Jongin grabbing plates out of the cupboard. Baekhyun still hasn’t turned around. The smell of the baked goodies is a tad enticing, however. Nearly enough to lure him out of this strange state he’s found himself in. “She caught me just before I headed into the station. Gave me a bunch of those chocolate danishes you like.”

 

Jongin appears, then, rounding the couch and putting a plate on the coffee table for Baekhyun, a perfectly baked chocolate danish looking incredibly tempting. The smile in his voice is audible as he continues, “She said to me, ‘Give these treats to your Baekhyunnie, I know they’re his favourite.’”

 

_ Your Baekhyunnie. _

 

He hugs his knees to his chest tighter. Jongin’s gaze on him changes from soft and kind to soft and studious.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Baekhyun doesn’t answer.

 

“You’re sulking.”

 

Baekhyun finally looks up at Jongin, who is standing over him, the ends of his hair still damp from his shower, his cheeks flushed pink from the cool evening air. Baekhyun blinks at him a few times, feigning cluelessness, even cocking his head like a puppy for emphasis.

 

“Nothing is wrong.”

 

Jongin narrows his eyes a moment, clearly unconvinced. But, he shrugs, and plops down on the other side of the couch, his own plate of sweets held under his chin so he doesn’t spill too many crumbs as he takes a generous bite. Baekhyun reaches for his own plate, hums around his mouthful. He can still feel Jongin’s eyes on him, tentative and contemplative. Baekhyun can’t help but shrink a little bit in his place.

 

He’s been miserable since he and Taeyeon hung up. Though the conversation was amicable and smooth, it has still left him shaken, grieving the end of something that was such a prominent part of his life for the longest time. He broke Taeyeon’s heart, and by catalyst, a little bit of his own. And he’s been sitting here, staring at films he isn’t even watching, thinking about everything that went wrong and everything that could go wrong. His thoughts even wandered enough to ponder whether calling it off was a mistake, if he should just ask for her forgiveness, if he could just forget all this ever happened.

 

He wasn’t happy. But everything else seems like it’ll be so much work.

 

Jongin says, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

 

It makes Baekhyun physically startle, as he’d become so immersed in his thoughts it was as though he was retracting within himself, a galaxy of despair and longing. 

 

The words, however, are comforting. Because Baekhyun doesn’t want to tell Jongin. Sure, perhaps he’s just not brave enough, hesitant that telling him about Taeyeon may lead to questions about the circumstance of the breakup, which is something Baekhyun is far from ready to confess. But mostly… it just feels wrong. Like betrayal. He needs time to find comfort in his skin again, as a single man, who doesn’t have anyone sitting back waiting for him at home. A man without promises and expectations.

 

He didn’t break up with Taeyeon just so he can be with Jongin. He broke up with Taeyeon because it was unfair to both of them, to leave them both sitting patiently, fiddling their thumbs, waiting for everything to blow up.

 

Jongin doesn’t need to know, so Baekhyun will not tell him. Not yet, at least. As if he’d even have any clue where to begin.

 

Baekhyun nods. “Okay.”

 

“Either way,” Jongin says, smile warm, fuzzy around the edges, all cashmere and milk and honey, “I’m still here for you.”

 

Jongin spreads his arms, a wordless invitation, and Baekhyun takes it, unable to contain the smile tugging the corners of his lips as he wiggles into Jongin’s embrace, stuffing more pastry into his mouth. He hums in contentment, warm from his core to the tips of his fingers, and Jongin giggles at him above him and holds him tight as he turns up the volume on the television. Warmth and comfort, solidarity and contentment, peace and calmness.

 

And Baekhyun figures that he made the right choice. There is no way he could sacrifice this particular brand of happiness for a future that he’d only wanted because it  _ should  _ have been perfect. It’s so wonderful, to feel growth from within you, rather than your core being eaten away, corroding to bits, day by day.

 

\-----

 

“Put on a jacket, it’s getting chilly!” Jongin exclaims excitedly, hopping back and forth on each foot, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his own jacket.

 

He looks adorable, his hair all floppy and soft and clean, his eyes sparkling with excitement, his pretty lips pulled tight in an ecstatic little grin. Baekhyun smiles back at him, complying, grabbing a jacket from where it hangs in the entrance closet and putting his arms through the sleeves. Jongin grabs a scarf from the closet, wraps it around Baekhyun’s neck a few times, smiles at his handiwork as he fluffs it up and settles it into place.

 

“It isn’t even October, yet!” Baekhyun exclaims, his own fingers coming up to fiddle with the soft fabric of the scarf. It’s a beautiful hunter green colour, and the wool is so soft between his fingertips, and he finds he has no room for complaint.

 

Jongin hums, a short, thoughtful little sound. “You just strike me as the type to catch cold easily.”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, but smiles all the same. “Shall we?”

 

Jongin’s smile grows, and then they’re on their way. 

 

Baekhyun doesn’t even know what tonight entails. All he knows is Jongin is excited for tonight, told him it will be the greatest way to kick Baekhyun’s creativity into full gear. Baekhyun didn’t even bother arguing that his imagination is more active than it’s ever been, before, his heart overflowing with so much joy, so much ardor, that it’s impossible for his inspiration to tap out. Jongin has been so enthusiastic about whatever it must be that he has in store for days, now. So Baekhyun will let him have this, walking side by side to wherever Jongin may lead him.

 

Truly, Jongin can honestly lead him to the fiery gates of hell, and Baekhyun would follow, no questions asked.

 

He sees their destination long before he arrives. And, honestly, he can’t believe that he’s been in Paris for nearly two months, now, and the two weeks before that he visited with Taeyeon, and he’s never been here. Well, he’s seen it from the ground, sure. You can see it from miles away, even. But this is his first time lining up to ascend the Eiffel Tower, in all her sparkling, glimmering glory, on a starry Saturday night, during the tail end of September.

 

The line isn’t too long, as it is pretty late at night. Perhaps that’s why Jongin decided to go at this hour. Still, the night air is chilly, and Baekhyun is not only grateful for Jongin’s scarf, but also Jongin’s warmth, looping his arms with the other boy’s and huddling close. Jongin chuckles at him as he shivers away, clearly biting back an  _ I told you so,  _ but Baekhyun preens under the attention. Jongin has a habit of sparing Baekhyun fond, tender gazes, and it never fails to make his heart stutter, and his stomach twist in the happiest sorts of knots.

 

“The Eiffel Tower?” Baekhyun decides to tease. “Don’t you think it’s a bit cliche?”

 

Jongin chuckles, rolls his eyes, looks perfectly stunning under the twinkling lights of the Tower. No human is allowed to positively  _ glow  _ like this. “Maybe. But it is beautiful. You’ll see.”

 

Baekhyun takes his word for it. Because anything Jongin could ever say is like gospel to Baekhyun.

 

It doesn’t take them long to get through the line, get their tickets, begin their ascent. Baekhyun eyes the elevator nearby, and Jongin notices, grabbing his hand and tugging him in closer.

 

“Don’t even think about it,” Jongin says, and Baekhyun pouts. “The climb is the best part.”

 

“Says you and your long dancer legs,” Baekhyun grumbles under his breath. Jongin just laughs at him, sparkling and vivid, and it’s enough to win Baekhyun over, as he climbs by Jongin’s side.

 

His thighs are aching, his breathing uneven, and he curses Madame Daoust and those amazing pastries, as they finally reach their destination, Jongin excitedly grabbing Baekhyun by the hand and skipping to the edge of the platform, where the view is the greatest.

 

And it’s so beautiful that Baekhyun almost feels reborn. The lights of the city, vivid, electric, absolutely  _ magical  _ against the darkness of the crisp autumn night. A clear, starry night, down the centre of the milky way,  _ wishes  _ it shone like this. His heart halts, his eyes water, and he squeezes Jongin’s hand as he just gapes at the view before him. 

 

Baekhyun has never in his life felt so small, yet so whole, yet so aware of how much room there is for him to grow.

 

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Jongin asks, voice low, so close to him Baekhyun can feel the warmth of his breath.

 

Unable to look away from the twinkling lights of the city before him, Baekhyun answers, “Oh my goodness, Jongin.”

 

Jongin giggles, somehow sidling in a little closer, and turns to watch the city before them, like Baekhyun is.

 

The sounds of life below them are barely audible from all the way up here. When Baekhyun blinks he can feel the sparks of the city lights bursting behind his eyelids, sizzling like electricity through his veins. It’s beautiful, not only in sight, but the way it  _ feels,  _ to be up here, above the entire world, looking over such a brilliant, incandescent world beneath them.

 

It adds so much perspective, to such tiny, human eyes. When Baekhyun reaches a hand out, he can cover what seems like the entire world. And when he closes one eye just his thumb blocks his view of the entire city, the entire universe before him. It’s astonishing, how small and insignificant he is, but how capable he is of making such an impact, depending on the way you look at it.

 

“Baekhyun,” Jongin says, voice a little distracted, like the illuminated mimic of the universe before him has his mind in a distant, enlightening state, as well. Baekhyun hums his acknowledgement. Jongin continues, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting married, soon?”

 

That’s enough to pull Baekhyun out of his little daze, turning sharply to look up at Jongin. His eyes reflect the lights below them, an entire galaxy behind his pretty eyelashes, and he turns to Baekhyun, too, curiosity ebbed in his features. Baekhyun inhales, deep and calming. His gaze drops to Jongin’s hands on the railing. The knuckles are looking a bit wind-bitten. Baekhyun has to hold himself back from reaching out and taking them in his own.

 

“I, uh… Taeyeon and I actually broke it off.”

 

He doesn’t even need to look up to know that Jongin’s eyes have widened in shock. “What? When?”

 

Baekhyun blinks a few times. A particularly cool breeze blows past, causing him to shudder, and by instinct, Jongin shuffles in even closer.

 

“Um… a little while ago, now.”

 

There’s a stretch of time where nothing is said. It’s probably only a few seconds, but it feels like centuries. Especially from this high up, nothing quite feels real, and Baekhyun is sure time is ticking slower in this weird little bubble he’s in, light years above the earth.

 

“Why haven’t you said anything?” Jongin asks. He sounds tentative, hesitant. Like he’s afraid of what the answer may be. Or perhaps just anticipating whatever answer he receives.

 

Baekhyun finds it within himself to look up at Jongin, meet his eyes. He’s met with an earnestness, an honesty, and, if Baekhyun is willing to indulge himself, perhaps a little bit of a hopefulness. 

 

His eyes are beautiful. Distractingly so. And Baekhyun finds himself gulping audibly, trying to ground himself enough to even  _ think  _ of a response.

 

“I just… don’t think I could have found a way to tell you.”

 

Jongin stares back at him for a long while, gaze flicking along all of Baekhyun’s features. If they pause a little bit longer on his lips, Baekhyun blames it on his own projection, the beautiful city beneath him making him feel so almighty yet so humble, all of it messing with his mind. It’s enough to make him bite his bottom lip between teeth, though, as he thinks of more to say. Because Jongin looks as though he’s searching for further explanation, his brows furrowed, his eyes wandering, his thoughts visibly spinning viciously behind his eyes.

 

“And it felt wrong. To tell you straight away.”

 

“Wrong,” Jongin repeats, voice low. It feels as though he’s inched just the subtlest bit closer, but Baekhyun can’t be sure. “Wrong, how?”

 

_ Because I didn’t want to run straight to you. Because I didn’t want to so quickly turn from one love to the next. Because I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, for you to think it was you who stole me from my fiancée. Because maybe I felt the need to punish myself, and decided not to allow myself the one thing I want most, just for a little while, so I can give myself time to grieve what once was. _

 

Baekhyun doesn’t say anything, though. He just watches Jongin as his thoughts start to connect and settle into place, one by one. The furrow in his brow deepens, though, as perhaps another sort of curiosity contorts his beautiful, beautiful features. Baekhyun watches Jongin’s mouth a moment, licks his own lips, and notices that Jongin is watching his, as well.

 

It’s been a long time since Baekhyun has felt brave. And perhaps it’s this illusion of being so far above the rest of the world that gives him the courage to say, “I can tell you want to kiss me.” It’s merely a whisper, barely audible to his own ears, but he can see something spark behind Jongin’s irises, so he knows he heard him, too. “And I’m going to tell you now that I won’t stop you.”

 

Jongin nods, minutely, so subtly Baekhyun nearly misses it. But then Jongin is close, so close, the smell of his cinnamon toothpaste flooding Baekhyun’s senses, and there are hands coming up to cling to his scarf, and Jongin’s lips - full and soft and gentle - are on his own. And if Baekhyun thinks he’s experienced a punch to the gut before, he was so tragically mistaken.

 

His heart is positively hammering, his ribs rattling and his stomaching fluttering. His eyes drift closed as his mind drifts to a comfortable sort of hollowness, just letting the moment happen to him without any thought. Only feeling. Warmth and dizziness and hunger and fulfillment. His hands, though cold, rise to cup Jongin’s neck, his jaw, and he smiles into the kiss as Jongin shudders at the touch.

 

He is breathless. Oxygen is a foreign taste to him. All he knows, all he breathes, all he is, is  _ Jongin.  _ Pumping through his veins with a vicious sort of vigour, filling his lungs, his mind, his heart, his soul. A warmth and a rush, profound yet tender. It pushes, it pushes, but it never forces.

 

Baekhyun has never in his life felt so small, yet so whole, yet so aware of how much room there is for him to grow.

 

They part, though not far, and at some point during the kiss Jongin’s hands moved from the scarf to his cheeks, which are heated and flushed with pleasure and warmth. Their foreheads still rest together, their breath fogging between them, and Baekhyun chuckles, just quietly. He feels nothing except happiness, after a kiss that felt like so many things at once. It’s a welcome reprieve, though Baekhyun thinks he’s perfectly fine with leaning in again and drowning in so many senses at once, all over again.

 

Instead, he soaks in the way Jongin fondly rubs his thumbs over the apples of his cheeks, and says, “You know, writers really hate cliches. And here you are, kissing me on the Eiffel Tower. I can’t belie-”

 

“I love you, Baekhyun.”

 

Baekhyun stops in his tracks, a little dumbfounded, the breath knocked out of him in a single blow. He knows Jongin must really mean it, because he  _ never  _ interrupts.

 

“I love you too, Kim Jongin,” He says, quietly, any semblance of bravery long drained from his system. “You’re a type of happiness that I never even thought possible.”

 

They’re still so close that Baekhyun can see every crease in his skin as Jongin wrinkles his nose. “Yuck. Is it gonna sound like that every time you tell me you love me?”

 

Baekhyun giggles, his chest suddenly filling with air, after what feels like an eternity. “Perhaps.”

 

“Guess it was a mistake to fall in love with a writer, huh.”

 

And Because Baekhyun doesn’t have a retort, he just leans in, and captures Jongin’s lips in his own again. And he figures, as Jongin hums against his lips, that he could probably do this for the rest of his life. A promise, a commitment, he is absolutely willing to make.

 

\-----

 

The tip of his nose is frozen numb, his cheeks wind-burnt and eyes watering from the cold. But nothing can deter the smile from his face as he stumbles, hand-in-hand with Jongin, into the warm, cozy townhouse. Jongin sighs in relief at the feeling of actual  _ heat  _ against their shivering bodies, and Baekhyun giggles, bringing Jongin’s hands to his mouth to breathe hot air on them. It’s way too cold, for midnight in Paris in late September, as Jongin kept muttering over and over the entire walk home. But, it’s okay, because they found it an excellent excuse to walk far too tangled up in each other’s embrace. 

 

With their jackets finally shed and their shoes kicked off their feet, Baekhyun turns to head to the living room, where the couch is looking so inviting. Hands grab at his waist, however, and he’s spun around and pulled flush to Jongin’s chest. There’s a small, quirky little smile on Jongin’s lips, and Baekhyun thinks briefly that his own mischief has corrupted the poor boy. But then Jongin is kissing him, nipping playfully at his lips and letting his hands wander down Baekhyun’s back, and Baekhyun has no room for complaint. 

 

They're still cold to the touch, as they giggle and trip over each other as they make their way upstairs. Using each other's warmth to defrost, however, is extremely effective. And even changed into flannel pants and a sweater, Baekhyun is still shivering a little, and Jongin giggles at him before digging through his wardrobe to find the biggest, cosiest sweater Baekhyun has ever seen and pulling it on over the writer’s head. 

 

He positively drowns in it, and Jongin looks at him with the most amused little glint in his eye. 

 

“Our first night sharing a bed,” Baekhyun smirks, “and you're doing the  _ opposite _ of undressing me.”

 

Even in the subtle moonlight that fills the room, Jongin’s blush is obvious. “Did you know,” he says, reaching forward to tug at Baekhyun’s extra sweater a bit, adjusting it on his shoulders, “that you weaponize your words?”

 

Baekhyun grins impishly. “I’ve been told as much.”

 

Jongin rolls his eyes, completely fond. “You say anything to make people fluster.” He pauses to climb in bed, cozy and inviting under the covers. Baekhyun follows him, cool sheets a welcome contrast to the warmth of his clothing. “Does it make you feel powerful, whenever I blush?”

 

“Look at you,” Baekhyun teases, “asking all the right questions. Where did you learn to speak like that?”

 

Jongin smirks, not unlike Baekhyun’s signature up-to-trouble grin. “I learned from the best.”

 

“Perhaps I’m a bad influence.”

 

“I like it that way.” 

 

And Jongin leans in for one slow, concluding kiss, silently saying goodnight. And it’s the best goodnight Baekhyun has ever heard. 

 

Jongin, in his permanent state of softness and slowness, falls asleep in record time, chest rising and falling with peaceful breaths. Baekhyun wishes it were that easy for him, to let slumber consume him and submerge himself in his dreams with a single breath. He’s grown used to it, after so long, remaining awake, sleep nothing more than a distant thought. 

 

Years, he spent, dreading nights as he remained restless, hollow and dry. Eyes that begin to burn with every blink, staring his exhaustion in the face, but his exhaustion far too weak to win the fight. Heartache, dread, an existential sense of  _ emptiness _ that would keep him afloat, instead of letting him sink. His body is good at it, now. Staying awake. 

 

Tonight, however, he lies awake for every possible opposite reason. His heart aches with celebration, his skin buzzing with excitement, feeling like he could kick into the air and do a little jig, despite the serenity of the quiet atmosphere. He’s elated. Overjoyed and overflowing. This, he figures, is happiness. 

 

Jongin rolls onto his back, from where he was curled up on his side, and Baekhyun’s eyes follow the movement. They trace every curve of his profile, the way light catches on the height of his nose, the shadows in the hollow of his eyelids. His lips, soft, agape around sleepy breaths, and Baekhyun is so utterly enamoured, he feels as though he can lay here all night, just observing. Especially with the silver light, timid and subtle - just like Jongin - he glows, an ethereal, sturdy presence. 

 

Interesting, it is, to watch the moon - the one that's living and breathing before him - that illuminates his own little world, be saturated in the light of his copy. 

 

The tips of Baekhyun’s fingers begin to itch with an all too familiar feeling, and he takes one last, lingering glance, before he slides out of bed as quietly as possible. He shivers, outside the safety of the blankets, and grabs the little throw blanket from the foot of the bed and wraps it around his shoulders, trudging sleepily and quietly down the stairs. He opens his laptop, set up on Jongin’s desk under the window in the living room, blinks his eyes accustomed to the glow of the screen, and opens up the only document he seems to ever open.

 

His mind is spinning, like the endless twirling of Elise’s pirouettes. His heart is full, with so many things at once, so much he feels he may be overflowing. He may as well share some of it with Elise. Split the load down the middle, just to give his lungs room to breathe. 

 

\-----

 

He remains in that desk chair, writing and writing, until the sun has long risen, and the stairs creak with Jongin’s sleepy steps. His eyes burn, his skin itches, but he’s so immersed in his story right now, he doesn't think he’ll be capable of resurfacing. Not for a while. 

 

“Hey,” Jongin says, whispers, placing his hands on each of Baekhyun’s shoulders from behind and leaning down to leave a kiss against his temple. “How long have you been down here?”

 

It takes Baekhyun’s distracted mind a moment to process that he needs to answer. “Not long after you fell asleep.”

 

Jongin doesn't scold him, the way he’s used to, for staying up preposterous hours to create. He figures maybe it’s because Jongin, too, is some form of artist. And Baekhyun is certain that, if allowed, Jongin would never stop dancing, spinning and leaping in his favourite little studio, eating, sleeping, living be damned. 

 

Instead, Jongin just retreats to the kitchen to start on coffee, or breakfast, or something. He hums dreamily under his breath, a song Baekhyun doesn't know, and it’s the most perfect background noise Baekhyun’s ever had to fuel his inspiration. Jongin, it seems, always has that effect. 

 

Baekhyun smells the coffee before he sees it. And soon Jongin is placing a steaming mug on the desk in front of him, his other hand resting comfortably between Baekhyun’s shoulder blades. Baekhyun greedily reaches for the coffee, taking a well needed sip, humming around his dreamy smile. It’s just what he needs.

 

“What do you want for breakfast?” Jongin asks, voice gentle and smooth. Baekhyun basks in it a moment. 

 

He finally decides to look up from the screen, smiling sweetly at beautiful, beautiful Jongin, who’s all sleep-rustled and fluffy. Baekhyun reaches up, places a hand on Jongin’s neck to pull him down for a grateful kiss, that is bursting with so much brightness, Baekhyun has to hum into it. 

 

“Whatever you feel like having,” he answers. Jongin hums in contemplation, leaving a final peck to Baekhyun’s mouth before pulling away to head back into the kitchen. Baekhyun already misses his warmth, but his writing is enough to distract him, pulling him right back in all over again. 

 

He comes back to earth when Jongin waves a plate of french toast under his nose. It smells  _ amazing  _ and it’s smothered in syrup and Baekhyun’s poor, tired body is about to collapse at the prospect of being able to eat  _ that.  _

 

“Take a break,” Jongin suggests, kindly. “Eat and refuel. Then you can get back to it.”

 

Baekhyun thinks that’s an excellent idea, accepting the french toast with greedy hands and pulling his feet up to cross his legs beneath him on the chair. Jongin sits next to him, having pulled the armchair up to the desk. He’s smiling, as he eats, and Baekhyun smiles back. Giddy and happy, just to be right here, with someone so special, and who even made Baekhyun breakfast.

 

“Thank you,” Baekhyun says, having already devoured his food. Jongin only hums noncommittally, still munching away. “I’m sorry it’s our first day finally… together. And I’m wasting all my attention on my book.”

 

Jongin shakes his head, brow furrowing. “No, Baekhyun, don’t worry about it. I understand.” He pauses to take the last bite of his breakfast, steals a sip of Baekhyun’s coffee. “It’s rare, that inspiration strikes like this. I get it.”

 

Baekhyun nods. Something burns at his throat, a lump of things he feels he needs to say. And while he’s already taking a break from his writing, he figures now is his chance. There’s a long moment of silence between them, the sound of coffee still brewing in the background. Baekhyun takes in a breath to speak, but Jongin beats him to it.

 

“I’m glad you didn’t tell me right away.”

 

It takes Baekhyun a moment to catch up, his mind exhausted from inability to sleep. He clears his throat, unable to look up from where his hands fiddle with the fraying edge of the blanket that’s still draped over his shoulders. “It didn’t feel right, to tell you.”

 

“It wouldn’t have been right. And I would have wound up feeling guilty.”

 

Baekhyun only nods.

 

“How long ago did you guys officially break up?”

 

Baekhyun thinks. “Almost two weeks?”

 

Jongin nods. “Was I the reason?”

 

Baekhyun swallows. “In its entirety, no. In incentive, yes.”

 

Jongin seems to process this a moment. Baekhyun hates it, the suddenly heavy, serious atmosphere that’s settled around them. This conversation, however, is mandatory. They ended up too caught up in each other last night to properly lay everything out on the table. If there’s one thing Baekhyun values, it’s honesty.

 

So, Baekhyun continues, “I broke up with her the moment I packed up and left. She knew it before I even accepted it.” He glances up at Jongin, who is watching him carefully, his honeyed eyes so docile and compassionate. “I couldn’t marry her for a lot of reasons. She knew them all before I did. And you-”

 

He pauses, still staring back at Jongin, hoping his eyes convey as much earnesty as he feels. “You made me realize that the love I felt for her isn’t the kind of love you marry.”

 

A smile grows on Jongin’s face. “It’s a little early to talk about marriage, don’t you think?”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, glad the heaviness in the air has lifted some. He feels less burdened, now that he’s shared everything he feels he needs to share. No secrets. No lies. He let everything occur in due time. “You know what I mean.”

 

Jongin’s eyes sparkle. “I do.” A moment passes. Then, “I liked you from the very start, you know.”

 

This makes Baekhyun startle, his heart hiccuping, his stomach fluttering. It’s perhaps embarrassing, how smitten he is. “Oh really, now?”

 

“Yeah,” he answers with a smile. “Then you said you were engaged, and I tried my hardest to just be your friend.”

 

A swallow, and a nod. Baekhyun understands. 

 

A beautiful, curious smile pulls at Jongin’s lips. “Which is why I’m glad you didn't tell me right away. I wouldn't have been able to stay away and give you time to recover.”

 

He’s right. It was for the best. And Baekhyun knows as much. Instead of continuing with such a serious, weighty topic, however, Baekhyun just grins, the way he knows dazzles. “I can't believe you had a crush on me the whole time!” He teases. 

 

With a chuckle, and the roll of his eyes, Jongin pushes at Baekhyun’s shoulder before standing up from where he sits. He bends down, kisses Baekhyun soundly on the mouth, murmurs, “Like I said: You dazzle,” against his lips. Baekhyun sighs. Indescribably happy and warm. 

 

“I’m gonna run some errands,” Jongin says, walking away. Baekhyun pouts at the lack of warmth. “And I promised Taemin I’d hang out with him today.”

 

There’s the clanging of dishes as Jongin loads the dishwasher, and Baekhyun turns back to his story. He vaguely registers Jongin in his peripheral vision, stopping at the foot of the stairs.

 

“You okay here?” Jongin asks.

 

Baekhyun turns to him with a smile. “I have my computer and my imagination. I'm set.”

 

Jongin smiles. “Good.”

 

“Thank you,” Baekhyun says, just as Jongin turns to head up the stairs to get dressed. Jongin pauses, looks at him over his shoulder. “For breakfast. And Coffee. And being all cute and liking me back.”

 

Jongin laughs, the best sound Baekhyun has ever heard. “You're welcome, I guess. There's more coffee in the pot.” And then he sprints up the stairs, two steps at a time.

 

\-----

 

The sun is beginning to set, when Jongin returns. And Baekhyun is still typing away, his fingertips numb as they click away at the keys, his eyes dry and exhausted, his shoulders heavy. 

 

Jongin locks the door behind him before peeking into the main area. Perhaps, Baekhyun thinks, he was hoping Baekhyun would have gone to bed, or at the very least stopped writing, by now. Especially since, as he sees Baekhyun still hunched in front of his computer, looking lifeless and drained, he sighs exasperatedly and slouches his posture. 

 

He’s still all gentle, though, as he approaches Baekhyun and slides his arms around him. “Hey,” he says, voice soft. His lips are pressed to the side of Baekhyun’s neck, the vibrations of his voice making Baekhyun quake beneath his touch. “Hey let’s go to bed, baby.”

 

The petname has Baekhyun shuddering, a sigh leaving his lips. He’s exhausted, yes, but it's reached beyond being tired, and has manifested into an itch and a burn, like he has no control over his skin or his limbs. He’s weak, yes. But thrumming with force. And he hums, sinks into Jongin’s embrace, decides that, yes, it's time to stop writing. He’s been doing this for literal  _ hours.  _ His eyes sting every time he blinks. 

 

He nods, and Jongin smiles, looking relieved. He steps back to give Baekhyun room to stand, to stretch his arms over his head and listen to his joints groan. He yawns, sighs, blinks at Jongin a few times and says in the most horribly sweet voice he could manage, “Carry me?”

 

Jongin just stares at him for a moment, clearly in disbelief. He seems to come to realize that this isn't exactly out of character for Baekhyun, and with an exasperated little huff, he reaches out and scoops Baekhyun up in his arms. 

 

Giggling profusely, Baekhyun teases Jongin, “So big and strong,” and other murmurings along that sort. He’s a bit loopy with his exhaustion, wrapping his arms securely around Jongin’s neck and cuddling into his chest, positively basking in the way Jongin continues to roll his eyes, albeit fondly, as he carries Baekhyun up the stairs. He’s warm, through the fabric of his shirt, and Baekhyun burrows himself in it, dragging Jongin down with him when he’s eventually plopped down onto the bed. 

 

“Oomph,” Jongin grunts, plopping down on top of Baekhyun, hips bracketed by Baekhyun’s thighs. “Baek, let gooo,” he whines with a chuckle.

 

But Baekhyun doesn't let go, just wraps his arms around his neck tighter, pulls him in closer, giggles as Jongin tries to wrestle with him a bit. So, with a kiss, Baekhyun stops him from trying to escape. It’s perhaps a bit hungry, a bit desperate, and Jongin picks up on it, as he hesitates, just briefly, before letting go. He matches Baekhyun in enthusiasm, perhaps even challenges him, a hand sliding down Baekhyun’s torso, to his thigh, where he grips tight, assuring and strong, and Baekhyun sighs. Hands wander, lungs grow shallow, and Baekhyun is overheating under all his layers, dying for his skin to be free.

 

His hands slide down, down, past the small of Jongin’s back and down to his ass, earning a hum. He debates his options, decides to test the waters, rolls his hips up to meet Jongin’s. A gasp. A breathless,  _ “Baekhyun,” _ which Baekhyun isn't sure whether is a warning or a plea. The latter is the option he prefers, so he rocks up again, groaning, himself, this time. 

 

Then he yawns, and Jongin laughs. The absence of warmth is faltering, when Jongin pulls away to smile fondly down at Baekhyun, biting his lower lip as if that’ll disguise the width of his grin.

 

“You need to sleep,” Jongin says.

 

Baekhyun groans. “I  _ need  _ you to touch my dick.”

 

“Baekhyun, you are so exhausted right now you probably can't even get your dick up.”

 

“Jesus Christ, you're absolutely right.”

 

Jongin’s laugh is hearty and soulful, sweet music to Baekhyun’s tired ears. He hates that Jongin is right, and he hates that it's really his own fault. Jongin rolls off of him, plops down at his side, and though Baekhyun likes being under him, beside him isn't too bad either. 

 

“Sleep,” Jongin says.

 

Baekhyun pouts. “Not ‘til you kiss me goodnight.”

 

A laugh. “I was just kissing you!”

 

“Oh, those were  _ not  _ goodnight kisses,” Baekhyun insists, puckering his lips dramatically, eyes squeezing shut. 

 

He hears Jongin chuckle, just lightly. “God, have you  _ always  _ been like this?”

 

Baekhyun is sure he means needy, whiny, childish, and likely a bit of an attention hog. And he thinks back to the way he was with Taeyeon; Well-behaved and trapped in his own head. 

 

“Nope!” He answers honestly. With his words warped around his puckered lips he says, “Just with you!”

 

He hears, rather than sees, Jongin roll his eyes. But, soon, he’s kissing him. Soundly, sweetly, softly. And Baekhyun thinks if this is what he’ll fall asleep to for the foreseeable future, it's  _ definitely  _ something he could get used to. 

 

\-----

 

Baekhyun resents ever being compared to the sun. 

 

He hates her. She is bright and harsh and unwelcome. Especially to a pair of tired eyes, slowly awakening, rising from the heaviest of sleeps, the most fragmented of dreams, to the horrible, disgusting, uninvited whiteness of morning light. Why didn't Jongin close the blinds last night? Baekhyun hates the sun, starting now. How  _ dare  _ she interrupt his sleep?

 

It takes him some time to sober up from slumber, take in his surroundings. Including the sleeping lump next to him.  _ How  _ is Jongin so capable of sleeping through literally anything? It’s completely unfair. 

 

And, perhaps, Baekhyun doesn't totally hate the sun. Because in the obnoxious, tasteless white light of morning, Jongin’s skin glows. In such brightness, Baekhyun can count every eyelash, can see so vividly he  _ feels  _ how soft his dark hair is. All his shades of brown, in contrast with the stark white sheets, he is ethereal, stunning, and if Baekhyun thought he could get used to falling asleep to his kisses, he can certainly get used to waking up to a sight like this. 

 

He leans in, kisses Jongin’s forehead, his nose, his cheek, as much as he can access with Jongin curled up the way he is. The younger eventually stirs, smiling before his eyes even open, and Baekhyun thinks that he might be so in love it’s painful. And, god, is it good. 

 

“Good morning,” Jongin murmurs, voice slow with sleepiness, his eyes still threatening to fall shut again. “How you feeling?”

 

“Amazing,” Baekhyun answers honestly. He isn't only referring to his good night’s sleep, and Jongin clearly knows, his smile growing, his groggy eyes glimmering. “Did you know that you are so unbelievably beautiful?” He asks, unable to hold back all the sap. He’s just so… happy. He’s  _ happy.  _ And it just keeps pouring out of him. 

 

And Jongin’s resulting blush is so rewarding, Baekhyun thinks. He flushes, attempts to burrow his face in the pillows next to his head, unable to hide the giddy little grin on his pretty face. 

 

“You should kiss me,” Jongin whispers, voice small, and Baekhyun is inclined to agree. 

 

Neither of them care about their morning breath, the stale remainders of their dreams the night before, too caught up in kissing each other breathless. It’s soft, inviting and open. Yet thrumming with a sort of power Baekhyun is quickly growing addicted to. He loves this. Feeling full. Complete, with Jongin connected to him - lips to lips, chest to chest, legs tangled up beneath the sheets.

 

They roll around, get trapped in the sheets, giggle and kick around until they're free again. Baekhyun loves being under Jongin, beside Jongin, and now, above him, able to feel the pounding of Jongin’s heart against his own ribs.

 

He pulls back, lips tingling, veins vibrating with a foreign brand of ecstasy. He says, “I need you to fuck me as nicely as I imagine you would.”

 

Jongin flushes, but smiles knowingly all the same. “Who knew you were so vanilla?”

 

“I’m a writer, I’m romantic by default.”

 

Jongin hums, pulls him down into another kiss. Then, in all his strength and coordination, flips them over so he rests comfortable between Baekhyun’s hips. His kisses trail away from Baekhyun’s lips, to the column of his throat, the juncture of his shoulder. There’s flames, Baekhyun is sure, left in his wake. Searing into his flesh and consuming him wholly.

 

“You're right,” Jongin murmurs, voice gravelly against Baekhyun's tingling skin. “I  _ would  _ fuck you nicely.”

 

“That's why I asked you to do it,” Baekhyun replies, not missing a beat. He squirms, enough to earn friction between both their crotches, gasps. “Because I wouldn't.”

 

Jongin smiles, lifts up from where he was mouthing at his skin to stare down at Baekhyun with a shit-eating grin. “I knew you'd be freaky.”

 

Baekhyun cocks a brow, challenging. “Why, you've thought about it?”

 

“An awful lot,” Jongin answers, diving back down to swallow Baekhyun’s potential retort in a magnificent kiss. Hands find their way beneath clothing until there’s no clothing at all, all flushed skin and quiet gasps, hands and lips at wherever each other can reach. Jongin is warm, steady and solid, but flesh so soft it feels like velvet beneath his palms. Up his spine, down his sides, at his hips, his back again. Baekhyun maps him out, noting his discoveries. The way Jongin sighs when Baekhyun squeezes his hips, gasps with a hint of a giggle when fingertips brush the small of his waist. All his heat, all his sounds, all his touch, an infinite source of  _ learning _ for Baekhyun. And he cannot get enough. 

 

And Jongin, so warm and steady and solid, is all gentle touches, slow moving and careful. Baekhyun squirms beneath him, as Jongin prepares him, slowly and tantalizingly, yet deliciously and sweetly. They share kisses, sighs and moans, Jongin’s free hand wandering all of Baekhyun’s body, all his lines and crevices and planes. And Baekhyun, in his entire life, has never felt so greatly loved. Even his truest love, his writing and his art, has never treated him as good as this. 

 

“I’m ready,” Baekhyun breathes, when it’s reached the point where he’s entirely off-kilter. Not even aware of his own physical presence, instead feeling like an ominous presence floating through space. “I’m ready.”

 

Jongin doesn’t move to continue for a moment, instead just kisses him, absorbs him, experiences him. Baekhyun finds no room for complaint.

 

There’s dust floating in the streams of light coming in from the window, glittering and catching the light in an endlessly animated pattern. Birds chirp from beyond the windows, greeting the morning with their pretty little songs. And Jongin kisses him, soundly and surely, until hips are flush with hips and Baekhyun can’t help but sigh, and smile at the way his puff of breath makes the dust dance.

 

It is quiet, it is sweet. They pant, occasionally hum, into each other’s skin. They share heat, space, vulnerability, and Baekhyun feels like he’s been pulled right open, able to share it all with the beautiful, beautiful face above him. He kisses Jongin, and Jongin reciprocates, and Baekhyun’s body is so full to bursting with pleasure and contentment, he feels as though he can remain like this forever. 

 

It is quiet, it is sweet. Jongin is fucking him as nicely as Baekhyun imagined. And Baekhyun, despite being romantic by default, is also extremely impatient, and with tingling, slightly trembling hands, Baekhyun rolls them over until Jongin’s hair is fanning out across the pillowcase, a knowing little grin on his lips, as Baekhyun sits atop him, looking down at him.

 

“Romantic by default, huh?” Jongin asks, mostly teases. 

 

Baekhyun is so distracted by how stunning he looks, skin looking like molten, liquid gold in this generous, gorgeous lighting. Below him, just for him, a flush across his chest and lips swollen from kisses. It takes a moment for Baekhyun to respond with a, “shut up and let me do the work.” Jongin laughs, his entire presence illuminating in his mirth, and Baekhyun rocks forward, backward, up and down, watches Jongin’s face fall in pleasure. The way Jongin’s body feels morphs his face, contorts it into these stunning little scrunched up expressions, and Baekhyun smiles to himself, beyond his own pleasure, because he  _ loves  _ having Jongin like this. Malleable and at his mercy.

 

But despite Baekhyun’s enthusiasm, it is still mostly slow and exceptionally sweet. It’s louder, though. Baekhyun is louder. And Jongin follows along sometimes, moaning in tandem, hands strong on the dip of Baekhyun’s waist. His gaze burns, when Baekhyun tosses his head back, hyperaware of the way Jongin is absorbing him, memorizing him, and Baekhyun looks back down at him, meets his gaze and holds it, basks in the way the space between them crackles, sparks and electrocutes. 

 

It escalates, crescendos, until Baekhyun can’t hold himself up anymore and collapses against Jongin’s chest. Arms snake around his back, in hopes to keep him there, and Baekhyun doesn’t have it in him to fight. They rock, move like it’s choreographed, fitting so perfectly against each other, until Baekhyun’s senses are so flooded they’re gushing, and sparks of white light shock the edges of his vision.

 

Jongin is much quieter, as he reaches his peak. Giant sighs but gentle touches. And Baekhyun just stays there, flat atop Jongin, as their chests beat against each other with heavy heartbeats and heavier breaths. One of Jongin’s hands slide down from between Baekhyun’s shoulder blades to the small of his back. And Baekhyun figures that if he could remain in one place only for the rest of his life, it would be exactly right here, right now, right as he is and how he feels. 

 

\-----

 

As winter prepares for its annual visit to Paris, Baekhyun gets closer and closer to finishing his novel. November arrives and so does a phone number and email, supplied by Yixing, for a respected and good hearted editor named Minseok that Baekhyun positively  _ has  _ to work with. And this Minseok is kind, quick witted and clever at his job, finding small mistakes and holes in Baekhyun’s story that he would never find otherwise. And under the careful tuning of one Kim Minseok, Baekhyun’s story is looking even more perfect with every passing day, and he has never felt so proud in his life. 

 

Jongin, too, is tuning up and polishing greatness. The season is nearing an end, and performances are to begin soon, and if Jongin doesn’t supply the perfect prince, Baekhyun is sure the poor boy wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Jongin loves dancing more than anything in the world. If he doesn’t consistently succeed at it, it’s sure to crush him. 

 

For instance, right now, as Baekhyun lounges on the couch munching on popcorn, watching some French game show he doesn’t entirely understand, he can hear the tell-all footsteps from the floor above him. Jongin is - as always, lately - practicing choreography and doing warm-ups in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom. It’s kind of beginning to eat him alive, Baekhyun’s noticed, dancing all day at the studio and then going straight up to the bedroom to practice some more. Baekhyun has to remind him to eat, to shower, to sleep. He suddenly understands what it must be like to take care of him when he’s in the zone. Jongin’s patience is incredibly admirable. 

 

The show isn’t interesting, anyway. And Baekhyun is all out of popcorn. He sighs, looks at the clock, realizes Jongin hasn’t eaten since he got home a few hours ago. He makes quick work of turning off the television and getting up to head to the kitchen. 

 

There’s leftover soup that was made the other day. Not a lot of cooking has happened recently, since Baekhyun is terrible at it and Jongin is preoccupied. It’s the best he can do, however, so he heats up the soup and makes a grilled cheese sandwich, gathers it all up in his hands, and heads for the stairs. 

 

Baekhyun can hear the music from the end of the hallway, metallic through the speakers of Jongin’s phone and muffled through the door. The footsteps are countable, as if on a beat, as Jongin undoubtedly runs through the choreography. Baekhyun smiles to himself, struggling to get the door open with both hands full, but once the knob is turned he nudges it open with his hip. 

 

If Jongin is startled, he doesn’t show it. Rather he stops in his tracks, lets his arms fall to his sides and smiles stunningly at Baekhyun. Warm and welcoming. And Baekhyun tries to smile back just as sweetly, silently offering the food to Jongin by holding them out toward him as he steps into the room, across the plush carpet between his toes. 

 

“Hey,” Jongin says, meeting him halfway and taking the food from Baekhyun’s hands. He turns around, places them on the desk in the corner of the room and turns back to Baekhyun. Baekhyun is about to protest, tell him the food is for him to  _ eat,  _ but then Jongin says, “You’re just who I wanted to see,” and pulls him in closer by the wrist. And Baekhyun finds no room for complaint.

 

Jongin’s smile is mischievous and crooked. “My favourite dance partner.”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “Gonna use me as a prop so you can perfect your lifts?”

 

Jongin’s smile only grows. “Exactly!” And then the breath leaves Baekhyun’s lungs as he’s being grabbed by the waist and hoisted in the air.

 

It’s fun, like the last time they did this. Baekhyun doesn’t do much, just steps wherever Jongin guides him to, makes himself available to be spun or lifted or dragged this way and that. He’s giggling before he realizes, and Jongin is smiling at him, so dazzling, despite his breathless state.

 

The song slows, after a large crescendo and seemingly difficult lift - especially since Baekhyun hasn’t a clue what he’s doing and is probably only making it more difficult for Jongin - and Jongin lowers Baekhyun, slowly, keeping him close by his grip around his waist. Baekhyun, surely, must be living in some dream.

 

They’re still too close, but neither of them move. “You’re heavier than the last time we did this,” Jongin says.

 

Baekhyun squawks indignantly. “You don’t just say those things!”

 

Jongin laughs, shakes his head, looks like a disbelieving child. “No, it’s a good thing! You looked so unhealthy when I met you.”

 

Jongin steps away, then, toward his food, and Baekhyun suddenly feels as though he can breathe again. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped. He blinks a few times. Says, “I was unhealthy, I guess. But now I’m happy.”

 

The smile Baekhyun earns from Jongin is brilliant. Baekhyun still stands in the same place, as if frozen on the spot. Baekhyun continues, “And I guess happiness and health go hand-in-hand.”

 

Jongin picks up a piece of his grilled cheese, takes a bite, smiles with his eyes as he chews his food. “Thank you for the food,” He says, stepping in to give Baekhyun a quick peck on the lips. “And I’m sorry I’ve been so… distracted lately.”

 

“Hey,” Baekhyun says, lightly thumping Jongin on the chest, unable to stop staring at his lips. “You were patient with me when I was preoccupied with my work. I can only extend to you the same patience, no?”

 

Jongin smirks. “You? Patient?”

 

Baekhyun hits his chest a little harder in retaliation, but still lets Jongin pull him in for a kiss.

 

\-----

 

The weather is getting much, much colder. And Baekhyun hadn’t thought he’d be staying this long. More often than not he finds himself clad in layers upon layers of Jongin’s oversized sweaters, struggling to keep up with the wickedly cool temperatures despite not having packed for such weather. Jongin says he looks good in the giant sweaters, cable knits and soft cashmeres all swallowing up his tiny body. And though Baekhyun doesn’t necessarily think he  _ looks  _ good in them, he certainly  _ feels  _ good in them. Warm, comfortable. They smell like Jongin, as if he’s endlessly being hugged by him.

 

Tonight, however, he’s clad in a fitted suit and a stiff collar. He fiddles with his shirtsleeve as he finds his seat, next to Chanyeol, in the auditorium. The light is dim, just enough to find seats, the orchestra before the stage playing subtle, easy listening songs as background noise.

 

It’s crowded, the  _ Place de l’Opera.  _ Baekhyun feels considerably overwhelmed. But, luckily, Chanyeol is a friendly, familiar face, and Baekhyun feels much more at ease soon enough.

 

He grips his program in his hand tightly, enough for it to be wrinkled and crumpled beyond repair. He’s nervous, infinitely so. He knows Jongin will do remarkable, but Baekhyun just can’t help the jitters coursing through him, his knee jumping uncontrollably. If Chanyeol notices, he doesn’t say anything. Baekhyun appreciates him for that.

 

The lights dim, and the curtain opens as the orchestra begins a slow climb of beautiful noise. A ballerina appears, under a single spotlight. The Prima, the star of tonight’s show. She’s beautiful, as she moves, her petite legs looking endless as she stands  _ en pointe,  _ her posture perfect, her neck long and elegant. Baekhyun’s mind names her Elise. He sincerely hopes she never has to give up doing this until her time has come.

 

The choreography is beautiful. The rest of the stage lights up to reveal more ballerinas, all moving in tandem, graceful, beautiful, so ethereal and surpassing human limitations, Baekhyun is sure. He remembers, distractedly, Jongin raving about how well their choreographer did this season, his take on  _ The Frog Prince  _ fresh, inspired, and positively show-stopping. 

 

One number in, as minutes pass and the stage clears and the crowd erupts into applause, Baekhyun can already see how true Jongin’s praises were.

 

The next scene reveals the stage as a garden. No, a pond, Baekhyun figures. The set, it’s so beautiful, much like the costumes. It’s enchanting, really, the pure artistry and beauty that goes into these productions. It’s enough to leave Baekhyun breathless.

 

And, as if he wasn’t breathless enough, enter Jongin stage right. He looks beyond celestial; endlessly long legs and skin that glows under the spotlights. His posture, erect and elongated. His movements, his steps, his spins, so perfectly tailored and effortless and smooth. And, god, does he look good in green.

 

He does his job well. He supports the leading lady with strong hands and a steady hold, keeps her balanced, always in front of him, supports her and lifts her with ease. Baekhyun figures she must be considerably easier to lift than himself, suddenly aware of how the waistband of his pants dig into the soft flesh of his stomach. And it’s noticeable, as Jongin tosses her about as if it’s nothing at all. 

 

Despite the fact that the choreography very clearly surrounds the Prima, Baekhyun cannot, for the life of him, take his eyes off Jongin. He is so perfectly stunning, looking otherworldly and beyond dreamlike. He moves with so much grace, so much elegance, it enchants, entrances, steals Baekhyun’s breath from right out of his lungs. Number after number, scene after scene, Baekhyun falls harder, deeper, struggles for air from far below the surface and he thinks, distantly, that Jongin’s birthday is coming up in a couple of months, and maybe it would be nice if Baekhyun wrote him a little short story as a gift. About a man who is too beautiful, so poised and exquisite, for humans to comprehend. And in the end, he turns out to be merely made of satin ribbons and liquid gold. Perhaps a dash of starlight. Sent from the heavens and fooled mankind into falling in love with him.

 

Baekhyun feels a little fooled, honestly, watching Jongin like this, too perfect for Baekhyun to wrap his head around. 

 

Before he knows it, the finale arrives. Jongin the frog is a handsome prince and they marry. The orchestra climaxes, then calms, then plays some more as the stars take their bows. Baekhyun’s hands tingle from how hard he’s applauding. 

 

The time between the curtains closing and finding Jongin is all a blur to Baekhyun. There’s so many people, so much noise, so much happening around him. He’s glad, at least, that he has enough mind to buy Jongin a single rose, proudly red and petals soft to the touch. Baekhyun feels elated, and slightly outside himself, and by the time Jongin is within arm’s reach Baekhyun immediately pulls him in by the collar and connects their mouths in a rapturous kiss. 

 

Jongin giggles as they part. “I take it you liked the show?”

 

“You’re an angel,” is how Baekhyun responds, giving Jongin his rose. “Or at least you’re not human. Anything but human.”

 

Jongin laughs again, eyes sparkling with pride and joy. Someone clears their throat behind Baekhyun and he suddenly remembers that Chanyeol is there. He looks sheepish, the look on his face making it evident that he feels as though he’s intruding. Baekhyun laughs, steps back from Jongin’s space, and smiles to himself as Chanyeol does his part congratulating Jongin and the two of them chat and Baekhyun is just happy. Mystified, sure. Somewhere in outer space, it’s likely. But happy. So, so happy. 

 

This happiness lingers through the entire evening, the cab ride home, their way through the front door. If Baekhyun weren’t feeling so ecstatic he would long be exhausted, after a long evening of visiting with Jongin’s colleagues over drinks. They’d celebrated in style, French champagne and joyous laughter, though Baekhyun could barely keep up with the French everyone was vivaciously shouting. 

 

Baekhyun is far from drunk, but he is giddy enough from the bubbles of the champagne to have lost his brain-to-mouth filter. And he doesn’t stop running his mouth the entire ride home and through the entrance. Endless chants of, “I love you, Jongin, you ethereal angel. You can’t be real you’re just a dream, you must be, you must be.”

 

Jongin only smiles through it, mouth warm around the edges and eyes glimmering with this softness, this fondness, that Baekhyun can’t stop staring at. And he tells him as much, over and over, how beautiful, how good, how otherworldly Jongin is. Too good, too perfect to be real and has only tricked him, fooled him, wrapped him up in this illusion of warmth and happiness that is much too good to be true. 

 

And when they’re finally up the stairs and in their bedroom Jongin kisses him. And Baekhyun hums as they part, dreamy little grin on his face. He has enough mind to say, “Oh, and your ass looked  _ great  _ in those tights.” And Jongin laughs, loud and true. And Baekhyun thinks he could never get enough of it. 

 

He also, apparently, can never get enough of the way Jongin reacts when beneath him. When Baekhyun unravels him slowly, with touches and kisses and praises. The way Jongin looks as he shudders and moans, the silver moonlight making that glint in his eye - a hunger, craving, or possibly satisfaction - shine all the more bright. He’ll never get enough of it. Of the way his name sounds when it’s moulded into a puff of breath from Jongin’s lips, and he can just lean right down and capture it with his own. 

 

\-----

 

It isn’t particularly rare that Baekhyun awakens before Jongin. Jongin, truly, can sleep through anything. This morning, however, Baekhyun was awoken by a work related phone call at an ungodly hour and has decided he doesn’t want to go back to bed. 

 

He wastes his morning watching an old French film on that classic movie channel that Jongin loves. And he watches as the sun goes from casting grey light to pink light to white light into the house. The credits roll, and Baekhyun decides to get up and start making breakfast. He’s sure once Jongin smells the food he’ll awaken enough to come down and join him. 

 

The mornings are getting colder and colder as the days go by, and Baekhyun pulls Jongin’s sweater tighter around himself. He loves this sweater. Has basically claimed it as his own. It’s soft and worn, with a hole in the right wrist, and long enough to reach partway down Baekhyun’s thighs. When he doesn’t need to leave the house, he lives in it. Kind of wants to keep it forever. 

 

His predictions were correct, as the second the pancakes become notably aromatic, Jongin comes padding down the stairs, rubbing his sleepy eyes with his fists. His hair sticks up, and his lips are dry but pulled into a small smile, and Baekhyun quietly tells him he loves him, because he just can’t help it sometimes. Jongin steps into his space, kisses him, stands next to him over the stove and wraps an arm around his waist. He’s still mostly asleep, Baekhyun can tell, as he gazes absently at the pancakes on the frying pan. 

 

They just stand there like that, Baekhyun cooking while Jongin observes from up close. Baekhyun can tell when Jongin begins joining the land of the living, because the hand resting warmly on Baekhyun’s hip starts roving, and Baekhyun can’t help the knowing little smirk on his face. 

 

“Mm,” Jongin hums, voice still rough with sleep as he turns to bury his face in Baekhyun’s hair. His hand slips under the sweater, tracing skin up from Baekhyun’s hip to the bottom of his ribs. “I knew you weren’t wearing anything under  _ my  _ sweater.”

 

It has a chill running down Baekhyun’s spine. But, instead, he turns off the burner and says, “So I got a call from Minseok today.”

 

“Yeah?” Jongin says, clearly not listening as his hand continues to wander and he manages to step even closer. 

 

“Jongin,” Baekhyun says, voice firm, eyes sad. “Listen.”

 

The younger picks his head up and looks down at him, brows furrowed. Baekhyun takes a calming breath. 

 

“My book is basically ready for publishing. All that’s left is finishing details.” Jongin only stares down at him for a long moment. Baekhyun continues, “All that’s left is deciding on cover art, and then some promo. Book signings and releases and things of the sort.”

 

Jongin catches on. He drops his hand, takes a step back. “Oh.”

 

Even though Jongin has already figured it out, Baekhyun still says, “I need to go back to Korea.” The pancakes are probably getting cold. “I have to go home.”

 

A long moment passes, where Baekhyun swears he can not only hear his own heartbeat, but Jongin’s as well. But, despite all things, Jongin is an endless source of warmth and comfort and goodness and happiness. And with nothing more than a small, reassuring smile, Baekhyun feels much better. 

 

“Baekhyun,” Jongin breathes, “your book is about to be published!”

 

Stopping the tears that threaten to fall from Baekhyun’s eyelashes is impossible, and he laughs into his sob as he steps into Jongin’s space again, craving his warmth. He will never understand how Jongin will only ever find the good in all things. He will never understand how Jongin found enough good in him to love him so greatly. 

 

“When do you leave?” Jongin asks quietly, carefully, still holding Baekhyun close to his chest as he rocks back and forth on his feet. 

 

It takes a few sniffles, but Baekhyun says, “Next Tuesday.” 

 

“Okay,” Jongin says. He pauses, thoughts nearly audible. Then, says, “and then you’ll be back. You’ll be back before we even realize.”

 

Baekhyun’s blood runs cold. Still, he agrees, “It’ll be like I never left.”

 

“Like you never even left.”

 

\-----

 

On that particular Tuesday morning, Baekhyun wakes before his alarm.

 

The sky outside is a melancholy grey, spitting out a gentle dusting of snow beyond the window. It would be beautiful, if Baekhyun didn’t feel dread festering deep within him, misery tangible on his tongue. How dare the sky choose today to sprinkle beautiful Paris with a coat of beautiful fluffy snow. Let it storm and rage, instead. 

 

If it stormed his flight could have been cancelled. 

 

Instead of getting up, ready, like he should, he instead burrows further into the sheets. He scoots closer, closer to Jongin’s warmth, until the younger is grunting groggily and reaching out to pull Baekhyun against him. He’s still asleep, hugging Baekhyun tightly to his chest, practically suffocating him in his warmth, lips pressed into the mess of Baekhyun’s hair. His breath, even, his heartbeat, calm. Always a calming and sturdy presence, warm and gentle when Baekhyun needs it most. 

 

It’s then that he starts to cry.

 

He tries to be quiet, tries to be still. However, Jongin stirs, sleep in his features blinking away into concern. Empathy. And he hugs Baekhyun tighter and presses a kiss to his lips.

 

“I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

 

They lay there longer than they should. Even past the sound of Baekhyun’s alarm. The snow calms even more before disappearing completely, and Jongin is squeezing Baekhyun’s hip reassuringly, kissing his tear-stained cheeks before gently and quietly urging him out of bed. Duty calls.

 

They work slowly together to gather all of Baekhyun’s things that he has packed, to get him ready to go. He hasn’t much luggage. All the clothes he has with him, anyway, are clothes he doesn’t need for this season. He still brings a giant suitcase, though empty, so that he can fill it with items to bring back with him. 

 

It’s an unspoken agreement that they have. That when Baekhyun returns, when the work is all finished, he will be here to stay. 

 

They ride the train to the airport, and Baekhyun watches Jongin under the yellow lights. He’s beautiful, always beautiful, and Baekhyun thinks about a time when Jongin was basically a stranger, supplying Baekhyun with a comfort he never even thought possible. How quickly he learned to trust him, for no reason besides that they share a language. And maybe that he’s so pretty it’s impossible to deny him of anything. But Baekhyun is grateful, no matter how foolish some of it seems in hindsight. Because here he is, now, his hand in Jongin’s, listening to the other murmur that he loves him, and how that’ll be enough to get them through the next little while apart. 

 

Baekhyun nearly cries again, in the airport before they part. But Jongin smiles so wide and so bright, kisses him so soundly. He says, “The faster you go get your work done, the sooner you can come back.”

 

The sentence feels incomplete to him. Like there’s something missing at the end of that sentence, and he can’t quite figure out what it is. But he kisses him back just as enthusiastically instead of dwelling on it further and Jongin hums. There is something so perfectly comfortable about Jongin. Illuminating in even the darkest corners, a constant presence, comforting enough to make you want to just curl up in sleep. 

 

“I’ll see you later, my sun,” Jongin says, softly, with a smile. And Baekhyun blushes, because he can’t fathom possibly being bright enough to light up Jongin’s cozy little world. But, he guesses, it’s fitting. If Jongin is Baekhyun’s moon, it only makes sense that Baekhyun would be his sun. 

 

God, when did Baekhyun get so cheesy? He figures it comes with the territory. 

 

The flight home is long. He’s uncomfortable in his seat and can’t help but feel as though he’s getting increasingly more distant from a crucial part of himself. Like something within him is stretching further and further as the miles between Paris and himself increase, until it’s pulled so taut it snaps. And it hurts. And Baekhyun lets himself cry again, even if it’s just a soft shudder of breath this time. 

 

What hangs over his head like an immovable weight is the knowledge that Baekhyun hasn’t a clue when he’ll be returning to Paris. It depends enormously on the response his book receives. If it’s a hit, he’ll likely have to extend book signing tours to meet demands. If it peaks below expectations, he’ll have to extend book signing tours to get the book into readers’ hands. 

 

So, no matter the outcome, he’ll be a while. 

 

He eventually falls asleep, once the sky they’re flying through gets dark enough to be just a boring expanse of nothing. He can’t see the moon from where he’s sitting. 

 

\-----

 

Yixing greets him at the airport, handsome as ever, dimple digging into his cheek. Baekhyun hadn’t realized how fantastically he missed him, immediately pulling his best friend into an embrace. Yixing laughs into it, that cute hiccup-laugh he does that makes Baekhyun giggle with him. He feels horrible. Exhausted and jet-lagged and  _ sad  _ because he had to leave Jongin for an indefinite amount of time and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it. 

 

But he feels happier, laughing his greetings with Yixing, as the latter takes his luggage from him and gestures a  _ let’s go _ to Baekhyun. They fall into step together, toward where Yixing is parked, and though Baekhyun doesn’t really want to go home, he at least feels some pseudo-comfort at being in a familiar place. 

 

“I’ve missed you, Hyunnie,” Yixing says, finally, as they load Baekhyun’s luggage into the trunk of his car. “You’ve missed quite a lot around here.”

 

“Well, Yixing, you know I missed you.” He pauses to smile over the top of the car at Yixing. “More than anyone else, probably.”

 

Yixing laughs as they get into their seats. “Don’t let Taeyeon hear that.”

 

The engine roars to life and Baekhyun feels his body drain. “How is she?” he asks, quietly, a little afraid of what he might hear. 

 

Yixing glances at him, amused, before turning to back out of the parking spot. “She’s fine, Baek. She was sad for a little bit, but you’re not  _ that  _ great, you know.”

 

Baekhyun bites at the bait, scoffing and rolling his eyes. “You know me, notorious heartbreaker.”

 

And with a chuckle and a pat to Baekhyun’s thigh, Yixing takes off onto the highway, and toward his apartment. Baekhyun is eternally grateful that, at the very least, he has somewhere to stay. He tries to tell Yixing as much through obnoxiously singing along to the radio, making his friend’s eyes light up, and trying his best to fall back into old habits. It’s much easier than he thought it would be. 

 

Yixing’s apartment is still spacious, beautiful, luxurious. Baekhyun always loved being here, when he’d come visit his friend. Towering bookshelves and attractive furniture and a wonderful view of the city. 

 

It’s so late, with the time difference, Baekhyun feels as though it’s the middle of the afternoon. Yixing looks tired, considering it is around two in the morning, but still, Yixing pads over into his kitchen to prepare something for Baekhyun to eat. Protests are futile. 

 

“You’ve had a long day of travelling, I am  _ not  _ sending you to bed without feeding you first.”

 

Baekhyun wants to argue, but his stomach growling speaks for him. He sits, eats some warm, reheated stew, as Yixing busies himself making sure the guest bedroom is ready for Baekhyun. A few minutes pass before Yixing is sitting across from him at the little breakfast nook, placing two steaming mugs of chamomile tea on the table. 

 

“Thanks, Xing. You’re the best.”

 

“Of course, Baekhyun. Anything for you,” he says, ever sincere and earnest. He sips his tea. “I had to feed you. You’re looking really good, by the way. Healthy…” he trails off.

 

“Happy,” Baekhyun finishes for him. Yixing nods, smile small. “I am happy. Sad right now, but… yeah. Happy.”

 

“Miss him already?” Yixing teases. 

 

“I missed him before I left.”

 

Yixing laughs quietly, eyes sparkling with something familiar. Baekhyun feels a pull in his chest, but it isn’t sad or painful. It isn’t dripping in nostalgia or remorse like his chest once was, whenever it came to Yixing. The tug is comfortable, familiar, like the calm after a storm. 

 

“That says a lot, you know. Since you didn’t really miss-”

 

“Don’t,” Baekhyun interrupts. “Just… can we just…” he sighs, running a hand down his face before reaching for his tea. “Anything except that, okay?”

 

Yixing nods, despite his frown. He looks a little concerned, or maybe guilty, like he feels as though he overstepped boundaries. Baekhyun tries to give him his most reassuring smile. 

 

“Okay,” Yixing says, smile growing on his lips. “Then tell me about Paris.”

 

If there’s one thing Baekhyun knows how to do, it’s talk. He talks and he talks. He tells Yixing about the streetlights and the food and the locals that know his name, now. He talks about the way everything smells like cigarettes and wine and freshly baked bread, and how the city lights twinkle from atop the eiffel tower, high enough to make you realize how incredibly small you really are. He talks about Chanyeol, Taemin, a few other friends he met through Jongin, and how they’re some of the loveliest and liveliest people he’s ever met. 

 

And he talks about Jongin. Jongin and his inexhaustible warmth and honeyed eyes. His constant kindness and endless comfort. How he laughs when he reads the comics in the newspaper as he eats his breakfast and how he laughs at French talk shows that are slowly beginning to make more sense to Baekhyun over time. How he speaks French to the locals with a slight stilt in his accent, introduces him to everyone as  _ his Baekhyunnie,  _ and shoots butterflies, adrenaline, sparks into Baekhyun’s bloodstream at all times. Always exciting, always cozy, always perfect. 

 

Yixing smiles through the whole thing, that knowing little smirk of his, like he’s reading Baekhyun inside and out as anecdote after anecdote spills from his lips. As time passes, Baekhyun begins to slow, begins running out of things to talk about. Yixing jumps at the opportunity to speak. 

 

“You have no idea,” he says, “how good it feels to see you like this.”

 

Baekhyun blinks at him. “Like what?”

 

“You’re… glowing, Baekhyunnie!” Yixing’s grin is so wide and genuine, despite the obvious exhaustion in his eyes. “You’re so happy, Baek. I haven’t seen you like this in so long. I’ve missed seeing you like this.”

 

Baekhyun flushes, deciding to hide himself behind his mug as he sips as his tea. He cringes. It’s gone cold. He can’t keep Yixing up any longer. 

 

Languidly, they make their way to the bedrooms, Yixing stopping to say goodnight in the doorway of the guest room as Baekhyun crawls under the covers. He leans a shoulder against the doorframe, handsome and smiling fondly, and Baekhyun can’t help but smile back at him.

 

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he asks, “Do you think we woulda been good together, Xing?”

 

Yixing chuckles, turning to head to his own room. “Absolutely not. I’d have loved you too much and let you get away with everything.”

 

“Wah!” Baekhyun calls after him. “You don’t just say things like that! Especially to a man who’s down!”

 

“Baekhyunnie, you’ve been saying shit like that to strangers since the day you were born.”

 

He’s right, and Baekhyun knows it. But still, he shouts, “I resent that!” across the hall to where Yixing’s bedroom is.

 

“Good night, Baekhyun!” Yixing calls back, ending the conversation there, while Baekhyun could have easily fought another few rounds. 

 

But, he figures, it’s time to sleep. 

 

\-----

 

Falling into habit is simpler than it seemed in the beginning. He’s busy enough, distracted enough, not to dwell too much on how much he misses sleeping next to the endless heat Jongin’s body radiates. But still, he always sticks to his one side of the bed, a little saddened when he reaches out just to feel cool sheets on the other side. 

 

He’s busy, between meetings with publishing executives and working with Minseok to put the final touches on his novel. He writes and rewrites a synopsis about a thousand times. He meets with a ballerina they hired to model for the cover art, and she’s beautiful and petite and lovely and everything Baekhyun imagined Elise would be. He feels accomplished, extremely proud, as the release of his novel approaches day by day.

 

The day he goes to his old apartment to collect a few things was terrifying, at first. It hurt him, enormously, to see Taeyeon face-to-face after everything that’s happened. And though she looked a little sad, she was nothing but kind and good and civil, genuinely happy to see him. Especially to see him looking so well. The compliment came with a self-deprecating joke about having never made him look so happy in all their time together, which Baekhyun immediately shut down because she was never anything but good to him. And she had smiled, and was helpful, packing up boxes of books and magazines and other trinkets to ship them off to Jongin’s place, sharing with him all the things he’s missed around here, refusing all his apologies when she talked about the process of cancelling the wedding. And when he left that day, he felt refreshed, like he had a satisfying taste of closure, and he told her that he liked her haircut, and she told him that if he wanted to remain friends he had to stop complimenting her so much, and he laughed as she hugged him goodbye. 

 

His novel is releasing tomorrow. He’s going to be busy with signings and promotions for the next few weeks, maybe month or two, and the thought is overwhelming. He’s unable to sleep tonight, kept kicking and tossing and turning until Yixing wandered across the hallway, blinking through sleepy eyes and mumbling a, “You’ll sleep better in my bed with me, come on,” before immediately falling back asleep, this time with Baekhyun sitting up on the other side of the bed. He’s still unable to sleep, but he feels more comfortable with a familiar presence sleeping soundly next to him. 

 

The guest room is on the other side of the condo, meaning he doesn’t have a window facing the city like in Yixing’s room. It’s big, beautiful, twinkling lights below them making sparks burst behind Baekhyun’s eyelids. But bright and proud, shining above the substitute stars that glitter the city, is the moon. Beautiful and supernal, illuminating the night sky with the calm, silver light the night needs. 

 

Baekhyun misses Jongin. Exhaustively so. He couldn’t even be there for his birthday. But the only thing he can do about it is wait patiently, and do his job. 

 

It’s nice, sleeping in a bed that isn’t cold and vacant on the other side. It’s no Jongin, but at least it’s something, and Baekhyun sleeps soundly for the first time in a little while. 

 

\-----

 

It’s been four months since Baekhyun kissed Jongin goodbye in an airport in Paris.

 

The snow that coated the city is melting away. It’s late March at this point, the days getting longer, the air getting warmer. And Baekhyun’s book is quickly climbing its way up to becoming a best-seller. He’s busy, and Jongin is too, and the time allotted for phone calls and video chats is minimizing as the days drag by. 

 

The last time Baekhyun spoke to Jongin outside of brief and rushed text messages between commitments was nearly a week ago. Jongin gracing the screen of his computer, bundled up on his couch with a mug of hot chocolate in his hands, his hair a fluffy mess atop his head, his skin looking soft and warm even pixelated from a thousand light years away. 

 

_ “You need a haircut,”  _ Baekhyun had said. 

 

_ “I’m saving that for when you get back here. So I can look all nice for you,”  _ Jongin had replied. 

 

And Baekhyun had sighed, unable to overcome the flood of negativity, making it feel, lately, as though he’s never leaving home. He’ll be stuck here forever, once his readers demand a sequel, or anything more from him. He’ll be stuck here, at this place he calls home, sleeping poorly in Yixing’s guest room and writing all his sadness away. He misses Jongin. Jongin’s bed, Madame Daoust’s pastries, the little old man that sits on the corner of  _ Rue de Bruxelles _ and  _ Rue de Douai  _ and happily plays his accordion for spare change. Baekhyun misses everything about Paris, and everybody in it. 

 

He misses Jongin. No matter how many times it’s repeated, it never feels like it conveys just  _ how much.  _

 

The sound of glass clinking against glass startles him out of his daze. He blinks up to find Minseok staring at him with a furrow in his brow, his own drink held forward as though he just clinked his glass with Baekhyun’s which still remains on the table. Condensation drips from it, pooling around the glass, and when he picks it up to take a sip it leaves a ring on the coaster.

 

“You’re a thousand miles away,” Minseok says. Baekhyun does his best to look sheepish, not meeting the eyes of Yixing or Kyungsoo and  _ especially  _ not Minseok as he shrugs around another sip of his beer. Minseok’s concerned frown melts into a small smile. “Come on, we’re celebrating tonight!”

 

Right. Baekhyun’s book is flying off the shelves. He’s received rave reviews - as well as a few that were considerably less enthusiastic, but that’s bound to happen - and everything he’s ever dreamed has been accomplished. The bar is nice, tasteful but casual, and he’s with good company. He smiles. Right. He feels  _ good  _ tonight. They’re  _ celebrating.  _

 

Round after round accompanies conversation after conversation. They discuss work and play. Personal lives and career endeavors. Kyungsoo talks about his current clients, though vaguely, as he is a lawyer and therefore is sworn to discretion. Yixing talks about what managing the publishing house has been like as of late. And Minseok. Minseok talks about editing for other writers that have approached him, and how none of them have struck a chord in him the way Baekhyun’s writing did.

 

And of course, they talk about the success of Baekhyun’s novel.  _ Elise’s Last Pirouette,  _ they’d decided to title it. Not titled after her last pirouette on stage, but rather the pirouette she does on the last page of the book, in the studio she bought and was just given the keys to, with her successful ballerina wife watching fondly from where she leans against the mirrors of the studio walls. 

 

Baekhyun smiles into the rim of his glass. There is no sense in denying how proud he is of this story he holds so dear to his heart.

 

“So,” Minseok says once he downs the last of this particular glass and forcefully places it back down on the table, “your readers keep gushing about how they want more from you.”

 

Baekhyun shrugs. “It’s not like I’m retiring from writing, or anything.”

 

Yixing wraps an arm around Baekhyun’s shoulders. “Are you gonna write a sequel?”

 

“Hmm,” Baekhyun thinks, frowning down at the bubbles in his beer. “No. No sequel. I want to keep that story exactly how it is and how it ends.”

 

“Fair enough,” chimes Kyungsoo.

 

“But maybe a new story,” Baekhyun says, now staring at nothing at all. “Perhaps… about a dressmaker…” Honestly, he hasn’t a clue where this is coming from. He’s had a feeling, an itch under his skin the past couple of weeks, trying to tell him what to write next. He has yet to figure out what his instinct is telling him to create, however. Images and thoughts of ribbon and lace, variable in texture and colour and finish. He’s thinking about  _ textures  _ instead of concepts, and it’s been driving him up the wall. “A dressmaker. Accidentally makes a person out of satin. No. Silk.” There’s a pause. No one speaks. “And they come to life by some inexplicable magic.”

 

Everyone at the table is silent for a moment. Baekhyun glances up, confused, only to find everyone staring at him with varying expressions, all of them looking intrigued.

 

Minseok is the first to speak, saying, “Did I just watch an entire creative process happen in front of me?”

 

And everyone bursts out laughing.

 

“Don’t make fun of me!” Baekhyun whines, slapping at Yixing’s bicep for emphasis. “I’ve been trying to sort out that idea for weeks now!”

 

“You’re so cute, Baekhyunnie,” Yixing says with a fond smile, that only earns a pout from Baekhyun.

 

It takes a little while, and another order of drinks, before conversation resumes to normal. They chat and chat, and Baekhyun can’t stop coming up with new ideas and points and devices to use in this new story. He’s getting more and more excited as ideas get tossed about the table. Sure, he also might be feeling the beer a little bit, but he’s just positively  _ pink  _ with giddiness.

 

“I’m sure you’ll wanna be back in Paris for the writing process, huh?” Minseok asks, swirling his drink around in his glass and quirking an eyebrow at him.

 

A wave of sadness consumes Baekhyun. He tries to hide it by glancing down at where his finger is dancing along the rim of his glass. “I mean, that would be ideal.”

 

Everyone nods along, as if they have any idea what Baekhyun is feeling. They haven’t a clue.

 

“But God knows how long I’ll be stuck here.”

 

“Now, now,” Yixing goads with a smile. “I’m doing my best to keep you happy as a roommate.”

 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes and nudges him with his shoulder. “You know what I mean. Who knows how long work will keep me here?”

 

“I do,” Minseok says. His editor, who’s stepped in as something like an agent in helping him with this whole process, which has all been so new to Baekhyun. “And Yixing does. He  _ manages  _ the publishing house that published your book.”

 

He glances between his two friends, who look back at him with these indecipherable eager expressions. He even looks over at Kyungsoo, too, who looks just as confused as he is. He’s trying to catch up with what his friends are telling him, but his brain has gone sluggish from beer and exhaustion.

 

“E-mail is a thing that exists, you know,” Minseok says smugly. “You can easily send me all your progress from over in Paris.” His face contorts into something of all seriousness. “As long as you meet deadlines, though.”

 

“I mean o- of course I would,” Baekhyun replies, a little bewildered. He glances over at Yixing, blinking at his goofy, inexplicable smile. “What is going on?”

 

“You thought we were celebrating the success of your book?” Yixing asks.

 

Baekhyun is about to answer that, well,  _ yes,  _ he did think that’s what they were celebrating. But Kyungsoo seems to catch on before Baekhyun does, releasing an  _ ah  _ that sounds something like a hidden  _ eureka! _

 

“Baek,” Kyungsoo says, smile growing on his face. “We’re celebrating the end of promotions.”

 

One blink. Two blinks. “We’re what?”

 

Yixing slaps him soundly and enthusiastically on the back, leaving his hand there to rub excited circles between his shoulder blades. It jostles him a little, as he’s a little stunned and is still trying to comprehend everything that’s happening. He can’t stop blinking down at the table, as if that’ll have all the answers.

 

“You’re done all your work here, Hyunnie!” Yixing cheers. “You can get back to the boyfriend of yours whenever you’re ready!”

 

And Baekhyun almost wants to cry.

 

It’s immediate, that he’s fumbling out of the bar and dialling Jongin’s number, long distance charges be damned. The air is chilly, this late at night, and he prays to god that Jongin is able to pick up, standing and shivering and listening to the metallic sound of the phone ringing back at him.  _ Please pick up, please pick up. _

 

“Hello?” Jongin picks up, and Baekhyun decides now is a good time to start crying.

 

“I’m done here, Jongin!” He cheers, though it’s wet around his tears. “I can come back!”

 

The sentence sounds incomplete, just like when Jongin had said his goodbye’s at the airport. There’s a word missing, at the end, and it feels  _ wrong  _ without it. There’s a word, Baekhyun knows, that will finalize the sentence and make it feel whole, give it the  _ proper  _ meaning.

 

So, without even realizing what he’s doing, he’s fixing the sentence and saying, “I can come back  _ home!” _

 

And, yeah. That’s exactly what the sentence needed.

 

\-----

 

The flight from Incheon to Paris is excruciatingly long. If it felt long flying away from Jongin, it feels even longer flying  _ toward  _ Jongin. Anticipation is making him restless and fidgety, and it’s making time slow exponentially.

 

He doesn’t care about the in-flight movies, nor does he care to listen to music, nor does he care to do much of anything besides  _ wait.  _ Baekhyun is ready to crawl out of his skin and float down to Paris, if that’s what it takes, if  _ that’s  _ what it takes to get back to Jongin. To get back  _ home.  _

 

With waiting, comes thinking. A restless body means a restless mind. And Baekhyun thinks and thinks about what  _ home  _ is to him. What it means, what it entails, what it requires. What it changes. What stays the same.

 

_ Home  _ was always Korea, where he was born, where he grew up. Where he had people and responsibilities and commitments keeping him grounded and connected. Where his belongings were. Where his family was. Where his career is rooted. And he had  _ dreaded  _ what he considered  _ home  _ for so long, absolutely despised the thought of returning to where he is supposed to belong, wishing he would never have to depart for a place he’s grown to fear.

 

_ Home  _ became the smell of freshly baked bread and the taste of fine wine. It became all the arches and details in the architecture around him, in the music and the food and the nightlife. It became the whirr of an old French film at one in the morning that Baekhyun has to struggle to understand. It became where his heart belongs, where his soul feels comfortable in his skin, where the city lights sparkle with promises of new dreams and ideas and an entire world for you to invent for yourself. Espresso shots sitting at a stool right next to the exposed brick, a glass of wine with every meal and champagne on the tip of party-goers tongues.  _ Home  _ is the place where Baekhyun knows he belongs.  _ Home  _ is on Jongin’s couch, in Jongin’s bed, by Jongin’s side.

 

It feels so good, to finally be going home.

 

He didn’t miss Korea the way he missed France. He didn’t miss Taeyeon, or even Yixing or Kyungsoo or his parents, the way he missed Jongin. It feels, as the plane continues closer and closer to Paris, as if there’s a piece inside him growing, once again. Something that withered and died as he left, but is blossoming and blooming again as he returns.

 

Baekhyun has learned a lot, over the course of the past year. He had built, in his mind, a life for himself. It was supposed to be perfect. It met every standard ever fed to him.

 

It just wouldn’t have made him happy.

 

Who would have known that Baekhyun would have to stumble into the life he was born for? It took nothing but a leap of faith, a decision to just lay back and let the current carry him, that brought him to the place, the life, the person he was supposed to be in, to have, to become. Perhaps he and his beloved Elise have something in common.

 

When the plane lands, the excitement bounces from him in visible currents. Sparks of electricity dance across his skin, make him jitter and fidget and grin from ear to ear. He is  _ home,  _ finally, after so long without it. He never, ever wants to leave this place again, no matter how much work Minseok and Yixing require from him. He’ll do it all from the comfort of Jongin’s living room. Well, he supposes, his living room now, too.

 

He rushes to get through customs, to collect his bags, to find Jongin waiting for him. And there he is, beautiful as ever, wearing that stunning hunter green scarf, and an even more stunning smile. Baekhyun jogs up to him, unable to contain his excitement, immediately drops his bags to run his hands through Jongin’s hair.

 

“You got a haircut,” Baekhyun says through his smile.

 

Jongin’s eyes absolutely  _ sparkle.  _ “I told you I would, didn’t I?”

 

Baekhyun bounces up on his toes just as Jongin leans down, and they meet right in the middle for the most astounding, important, significant kiss of his life. Warmth and comfort and a sense of belonging soar through him, flooding his veins and making his skin burn with it. With Jongin’s hands at his waist and Jongin’s smile against his own, Baekhyun knows exactly where he happens to be.

 

He has positively, unquestionably, unmistakably, arrived  _ home.  _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it through this mess. Here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/bbhsteeth) as well as my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/bbhsteeth) and in case you'd like to treat me to [coffee](https://ko-fi.com/laurenandrea) :)


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